


There is an Indentation (In the Shape of You)

by xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx



Series: Love Is A Mixtape [6]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Second Chances, Shirbert Song Project 2020, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx/pseuds/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx
Summary: "All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation— my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”Anne’s an entertainment journalist who gets roped into covering the press junket for the new ‘Pride & Prejudice’ adaptation after her editors find out that she grew up with the film’s hot young star, Gilbert Blythe—  the same Gilbert Blythe she harbored unrequited feelings for back in high school, which is probably why going through with this assignment is an absolutely terrible idea. [part of a series, but can definitely be read as a stand alone!]
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: Love Is A Mixtape [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651741
Comments: 413
Kudos: 564
Collections: Shirbert Song Project 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finally get to post this, the one story I've been dying to write since I first started posting Shirbert fics right here on ao3 back in February. 
> 
> A few notes before we begin:  
> \- I wrote this as part of the Shirbert Song Project (which started over on Tumblr), so at some point, it'll pop up as part of that collection.  
> \- Title, plus a few scenes are loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's "Dress"
> 
> Please enjoy the first chapter and I'll see y'all on the other side with some more thoughts!

“Are they here yet?” Anne asks excitedly as she barges through the heavy door that leads straight into the newsroom.

She leaves a trail of rain and melted snowflakes behind her as she makes her way to the mail nook just up ahead. On any other normal day, Anne might have paused in the lobby downstairs, carefully removed her thick coat, and bunched it up so as not to leave small puddles on the floor in her wake. But the unexpected winter storm had moved in quick through New York City, and an ill-timed subway delay meant she was already running far too late to pay much attention to the finer details.

Ka’kwet’s friendly face is the first she sees that morning, and while Anne had been hoping to beat her bright, young intern into the office today of all days, she heaves a sigh of relief when she notes the stack of brown boxes, still untouched from where they’ve already been stacked in a neat pile by the mail courier.

“The delivery guy just dropped them off,” Ka’kwet says, holding up a box cutter in one hand. “I was just about to open them up and start passing the issues out around the office.”

“Be my guest!” Anne says, practically bouncing with excitement.

Thursdays, by default, had quickly become Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s favorite day of the week— and it had everything to do with the fact that Thursdays just so happened to be the day that Pop Culturedreceived their weekly shipment of magazines. Tangible proof of the hard hours she’d spent putting into her work as a senior staff writer for a national publication. Tangible proof that she could hold in the palm of her hands before the magazine itself went out to the masses, and into the hands of readers across the country every Friday.

In the three years since she’d graduated from Queens College with a bachelor’s degree in one hand and a ticket to the Big Apple in the other, she’d never gotten over the thrill that was seeing her name in print every Thursday. But this Thursday was special, because it wasn’t her own name Anne was most excited about seeing in the sans-serif lettering under the headline of her latest feature, but that of the young girl in front of her.

Ka’kwet lets out a gasp when she finally gets one of the brown boxes open and carefully pulls out Pop Cultured's newest issue.

“ _Oh my god_! Anne, _look_! Did you know they were going to give you the cover?— That’s _so cool!_ ”

“I wasn’t sure,” Anne chuckles in return. “But there were talks— shall we see what the final layout of the article looks like?”

She looks on over Ka’kwet’s shoulder as she flips through the magazine in her hands until she stops on the right page.

Anne’s latest cover story had been a sweeping piece on the importance of representation of indigenous people in the entertainment industry— a story she’d been pitching for a while now, until she’d finally been able to whittle her stern editor down with her persistence. It seemed to be beautiful kismet that Ka’kwet had started her internship on the very day that her editor had caved and let Anne run with the story, and Anne in turn had quickly recruited Ka’kwet to help her as she began her reporting. The college student, who herself belonged to the Mi’kmaq tribe,had been an integral part in helping Anne gain access and set up interviews at a handful of reservations for her piece, and so the redhead had made it a point to ensure she would get the credit she deserved for her work.

Anne knows the exact moment that Ka’kwet sees her name in print right under Anne’s, coupled with the words “additional reporting by.”

She gasps, eyes bouncing between Anne’s face and the magazine in her hand.

“I had to make sure you got your byline— you played such a huge part in helping me tell this story the right way,” Anne says through a smile. “Congratulations, you’re officially a published journalist— in _print_!”

“Can I hug you?” The girl says finally after a pause.

“Yes!” she giggles as she opens her arms wide.

“Thank you,” Ka’kwet breathes into Anne’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to— I never thought you’d…but _thank you_.”

“You’re welcome,” Anne says as she pulls back. “Like I said, you deserve it! Now, go and tell your friends and family they’re going to have to go out and buy this week’s Pop Cultured— I’ll take care of passing these out.”

Anne gives Ka’kwet a gentle nudge toward her cubicle before she grabs a stack of magazines under one arm. Most of the other Pop Cultured reporters are already in and hard at work. She greets them in turn as she passes out copies of the latest edition of the magazine, before heading over to her own office.

She tucks into a cup of coffee at her desk as she makes quick work of sifting through the emails in her inbox, before taking out a pad of paper and a pen. Anne’s most recent article had taken two months to put together, but now that it was out, the time had come to move on to the next piece. She had more than a few ideas stewing in her mind of what she’d like to cover, but getting her editor to bite? That was always the real issue.

“Remember, Cuthbert,” Anne mumbles to herself as she makes a few notes to the ideas she’s gearing up to pitch soon. “It’s all about how you frame it…”

Ka’kwet comes to collect her at 9 a.m., on the dot and together, they head down to the conference room for the editorial meeting. One of the IT guys is already there, setting up the proper equipment to patch in Pop Cultured’s West Coast office staff. In no time, the large screen on the opposite end of the room flickers on to reveal the outlet’s Hollywood counterparts.

Anne’s West Coast managing editor is a boisterous man named Sean Smith, whose face lights up when he spies Anne already seated as the rest of the East Coast staffers begin to file into the conference room and take their seats around the long table. Sean had been reluctant to give Anne up to the East Coast office for the past few months so she could be closer to some of the sources for her feature— but Anne knew it was mostly just because he missed having her in rotation over in Hollywood, where there was never a shortage of topics to cover, or events to attend.

“Almost ready to head back home, Cuthbert?” Sean asks.

The word _home_ invokes a wistful feeling that blooms inside her chest. She knows the city Sean’s referring to, and it’s not her beloved Avonlea. That doesn’t stop her mind from suddenly transporting her to the tiny town on Prince Edward Island, with its sweeping orchards, and its mixed bag of townsfolk though.

“Yes, almost ready to head back to LA,” Anne says carefully, still unable to refer to the smoggy, sun drenched city as home despite the two years she’s spent living there.

“While I’m sure Laura’s loved having you in New York, we’re certainly excited to get you back!”

It’s as if the mention of the rather stern East Coast editor in chief’s name is enough to summon her. Laura Hartley might be small, but there’s no denying that she can command a room like no one Anne has ever seen, and suddenly, the chatter both in New York, and through the video call out in the Los Angeles office comes to a hushed silence.

“ _Well_ …” Laura says once she’s seated at the head of the table. “Who’s ready to impress me with their pitches?”

Anne hangs back, letting some of the more eager reporters jump right in and test the waters, hoping that if she gets a feel for what’s piquing Laura’s interest today, she might be able to figure out how to frame her own pitches better, and thus increase her chances of getting the editor in chief to bite.

Her fellow writers offer up some safer options: a piece on pop culture events to get excited about in the new year, an all-staff piece about entertainment themed resolutions, a preview of what award show junkies can expect going into the Oscars— just a couple of weeks from officially kicking off out in Los Angeles.

“There’s also the matter of the upcoming press tour for the new _Pride and Prejudice_ remake— that Blythe boy’s going to have one hell of an award show season if the buzz in Hollywood is anything to go by,” Sean adds in. “It’d be great if we could get him on the cover.”

Anne bites her lip, suddenly incredibly interested in the abstract lines she’s drawing on the note pad in front of her at the mention of Gilbert Blythe— Hollywood’s resident It Guy, and arguably the most in-demand young actor on the market. It's her default reaction to lay low whenever Gilbert’s name gets brought up in conversation in the newsroom, which, unfortunately for Anne, has been happening more and more frequently over the course of the past few years.

One of the other writers on staff brings up the final trailer that just dropped for _Pride and Prejudice_ earlier that week. It takes very little convincing to get both offices to take a break to watch a teaser for one of the most highly anticipated films of the year.

Anne can't blame them. For as much as she'd more or less avoided getting roped in to covering any of Gilbert's previous projects across film and television, she hadn't been able to resist seeing them all— and she doesn't resist now as her hungry eyes take in the way Gilbert has somehow manage to bring Mr. Darcy to life with a certain earnest nuance that leaves her feeling breathless.

She bites her tongue when she hears a few of her co-workers fawn over the way Gilbert looks at Winifred Rose’s Elizabeth Bennet, and has to stop a huff of laughter from seeping out when they gush about his smile. Anne can't deny that it's a nice smile. She also can't help but think that if they're already worked up over a simple quirk of Gilbert's lips, they'd never be able to survive being on the receiving end of a full blown grin.

Because when Gilbert Blythe smiles— _genuinely_ smiles— it takes up every fiber of his being. His lips curve wide, pushing the apples of his cheeks up, eyes crinkling involuntarily in the corners, a spark lighting up in the depths of his hazel irises. And when he laughs-- _really_ laughs-- the sound is rich like melted chocolate. And Anne knows because she's got fond memories of first hand accounts, and can attest to the fact that it's a painfully marvelous sight to behold.

If Anne were forced to use one word to describe it, she’d pick _blinding_. Because when Gilbert Blythe smiles, he could very well be, in Anne’s humble opinion, the most beautiful man she has ever seen.

He was, _still_ , even after all the years she'd gone without seeing him in the flesh, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. The only difference though was that now the rest of the world was catching on to a truth that Anne had known ever since she reached the age in adolescence where boys stopped being ridiculous, and started becoming much more fascinating…

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe had been cordial while growing up together on Prince Edward Island-- at least after Anne forgave Gilbert for likening her hair to the color of carrots. After that, Avonlea’s best and brightest had settled into a pleasant academic rivalry that took them all the way to graduation day.

They hadn't kept in touch after that, though Anne remembered Gilbert asking her as they waited in the wings of the auditorium to deliver their respective speeches to the graduating class, if perhaps she might consider being pen pals once she was settled at Queens and he in Toronto. At the time she thought he was just being nice. Thinking that that’s just what people said to each other-- like how it was customary to write "have a great summer-- let's keep in touch!" in others’ yearbooks. Even so, she'd be lying to herself if she said she hadn't imagined what it might have been like to come home from classes one day, only to find a letter addressed to her in Gilbert's unmistakable tidy scrawl.

It’d been seven years since Anne had seen Gilbert Blythe in person, but she’d heard he’d done well for himself— it was hard not to in a small town such as theirs. Though even if the rumor mill in Avonlea hadn’t been as active as it was, it would have been impossible not to have heard about Gilbert’s success.

In the time since graduation, Gilbert had set off to Toronto to attend medical school. Somewhere along the way he’d taken up acting as a hobby in the hopes it might work as a stress reliever from all the hours he spent hunched over medical texts and lab equipment. One day, a casting agent offered him a part in an indie drama after seeing Gilbert perform in a local theater production. That small part earned Gilbert his first nomination at a major award show, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The trailer ends, and Anne finds herself pulled back from the blurry visions of her childhood memories when the conversation turns back to locking in a longer feature piece on the boy she'd once been desperately, unrequitedly in love with.

“Good luck with getting _Gilbert Blythe_ on the cover,” crows the associate editor sitting right next to her. “I hear he hardly ever gives one-on-one interviews that last longer than five minutes. I can’t remember the last time any outlet ran an in-depth piece on him.”

“Not since that one magazine pried _way_ too far into his personal life—“ the explanation comes from a pretty blonde intern on the LA side who Anne is pretty sure she’s never heard pipe up before during these meetings.

"He went off on Twitter _and_ on Instagram Stories back when it happened, and called them out for misconstruing his quotes,” the intern rambles with a bit more confidence once she realizes all eyes are now turned on her. “Not to mention he was pretty upset that they’d managed to dig up some private family photos— and that the paparazzi swarmed his old family home up in Canada, but _OH_! Gilbert Blythe looked _so dreamy_ cuddling with his little niece under that apple tree in his family’s orchard! Why he wouldn’t want to share such lovely pictures is _beyond me_!"

The girl lets out a dreamy, wistful sigh, and then blushes furiously over, what Anne assumes is the sheer realization that she’d likely just outed herself as amember of theMedics— the collective name that those in Gilbert’s fandom liked to refer to themselves as.

“Oh, I remember now!” Sean says through the call. “It made international headlines— that poor little island town up in Canada didn’t know what to do with itself. Could hardly cobble together enough security to keep the paps and the fans away from the Blythe home— it’s got a very whimsy name, doesn’t it? Very King Arthur-esque— Avalon, or something like that, right?”

“Avonlea!” Offers up the same blonde intern as before. “It’s on Prince Edward Island!”

“Is that all they’ve been in the news for? The Gilbert Blythe mania?” Asks Laura speculatively. “Why does the name sound so familiar?”

Anne’s eyes don’t stray away from her note pad as she holds her breath and waits for someone— _anyone_ — to change the conversation.

“That’s where _you’re_ from Anne, isn’t it? You’re always talking about how much you miss it,” Ka’kwet chimes in. And for as much as Anne adores the intern sitting next to her, at the moment, Anne can’t help but curse Ka’kwet to high heaven for remembering that very specific detail about her life. “I’ve seen pictures in your office— if I came from a place as beautiful as Avonlea, I wouldn’t stop talking about it either.”

She takes a glance around the room, eyes bouncing between her co-workers, and the two coastal editors— both of whom are looking at her curiously. She fiddles with the pen in her hand before she finally gives her answer. “Yes, that’s where I’m from…”

“Aren’t you and Gilbert Blythe the same age? You _must_ know him then. Avonlea-- that place is a one school house kind of town, isn’t it?” Asks another writer who’s sitting across the table from her.

“Well, I mean…” Anne starts, stalling a bit while she tries not to crumble under all of the attention in the room that’s suddenly on her now.

“It’s a simple question, Cuthbert— _yes_ or _no_?” Laura says briskly.

“ _Yes_ , but—” Anne blurts out.

“So you grew up together?”

“Yes, _but_ —“

“So you must know him pretty well then.”

“I _guess_ , but I—“

“So you could talk to him then? Or his people? Get ahold of them and see if you might be able to set something up?” Laura says it like a question without much wiggle room for an answer that isn’t affirmative. “I can’t imagine he’d say no to a sit-down with someone he actually _knows_ — someone he has an established relationship with.”

“Look. It’s not that simple,” Anne finally rushes out.

“It’s settled then!” Laura says cutting her off. “We’ll put Anne on the _Pride and Prejudice_ junket— you can spare her for another few weeks, can’t you, Sean? We can still get her back to LA in time for any help you all might need with the Oscars and the Golden Globes this year.”

“Fine by me!” Says Sean.

“Hold on!” Anne blurts out. “We don’t even know if they’ll say yes? Is it even _really_ worth the effort to try? Statistically speaking, we just finished talking about how Gil… _bert_ doesn’t really do one-on-ones. Besides, we haven’t even spoken since graduation, and that was years ago. I mean no disrespect to your decision, but it seems like a bit of a waste of resources to tie me up with something like this, when _surely_ I could be much more help on something else….that’s all.” Anne finishes lamely.

Laura Hartley is looking at Anne like she’s just grown an extra head, which Anne doesn’t blame her for. No one can deny she’s an impassioned individual, but she and Laura haven’t worked with each other long enough for the Editor In Chief to be on the receiving end of much of Anne’s push back. And Anne gets the feeling that _thanks, but no thanks_ isn’t a phrase that Laura is used to hearing much at all.

“ _Ideas_!” Anne continues in an effort to diffuse the situation. “I have _plenty_ of ideas! I have a whole list of them right here! _Much_ more interesting than a sit down with Gilbert Blythe— which we probably won’t even be approved for anyway— I can pitch them to you right now! What about a revisit on celebrity activism in light of the inauguration? Or a deep dive into online streaming services being too quick to pull the plug on series with impassioned fanbases?”

Laura holds a hand up in Anne’s direction and the redhead falls quiet.

“While I appreciate your… _gumption_ , Cuthbert, I can _assure_ you that as long as there’s even a possibility that Blythe and his people will agree to a sit-down, sparing you for this specific assignment is a chance I’m willing to take. Besides, we’ve had you on the Austen adaptation beat since you started with us— Blythe aside, we’d have assigned you to cover _Pride and Prejudice_ anyway, so I _suggest_ you start coming around to the idea quick because we’re not assigning you to anything else.”

Anne spends the rest of the meeting trying to hide the furious blush that creeps over her face as a result of the scene she’s sure she just made trying her hardest to get out the story in question— a huge opportunity that any writer on staff would kill for. Because Gilbert Blythe or not, a sweeping feature about the upcoming _Pride and Prejudice_ adaptation was just the kind of piece that would probably score her yet another cover story at Pop Cultured.

She’s quick to push back from the table once the meeting ends, hastily picking up her pen and pad, thinking about how maybe a quick walk to the coffee shop down the street in the frigid winter air might help her feel a bit less shell-shocked by her newest assignment.

Laura’s voice calling out to her, asking if she can hang back for a minute stops Anne dead in her tracks, and she tries to act natural when the editor in chief asks if she can please close the door to the conference room. Anne does as she’s asked, steeling a breath before she turns around to face her boss.

“Come have a seat,” says Laura gesturing for Anne to join her at the head of the table. She waits until Anne is settled in the chair across from her before she speaks again.

“Normally I’m not one to pry into the personal lives of our staff writers, but you made such a show of trying to get out of an assignment that I’m sure many of your peers would have jumped at the chance to do, so I have to ask Cuthbert…is there something you’re not telling me that I should know about? A conflict of interest perhaps? Were you each other's firsts? Did Gilbert Blythe break your heart back in high school or something?”

Anne’s stomach gives a lurch at Laura’s directness. How could she possibly explain that yes, Gilbert had broken her heart in a way— as much as he could have without even knowing he’d done it. As much as he could have without actually knowing that Anne had wasted way too many of her formative teenage years being utterly infatuated with him, foolishly thinking that maybe…possibly…he might feel something for her too.

In the end, she settles for the truth without the added context. “No, it was never like that between us-- we never dated.”

“So there’s no conflict of interest here? Of the romantic kind?”

“No,” Anne confirms. “There’s no conflict of interest.”

“Then what’s your hold up?”

“Just being silly I guess. Over thinking it," Anne sighs. "It’s just strange, you know? To go so long without seeing someone you used to know, and then feeling as though all you’re doing is making sure your paths cross because you want to ask for something…does that make sense?”

“I can understand that,” says Laura, cocking her head to the side as she studies Anne’s face. “Maybe it would help if you remind yourself that you’re keeping things strictly professional. _You’re_ going to the junket to do a job, _not_ to see an old friend. _He’s_ going to the junket to promote his new film. You’re both there to _do your jobs_ — it’s not like Sean and I are telling you to ask Gilbert Blythe out for coffee under the guise of catching up, when really all you’re trying to do is blindside him into giving you a couple of quotes for a story.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Anne says nodding slowly.

“So we’re good?” Laura asks.

“Yeah…” Anne mutters. “Yes we’re fine.”

“Alright,” Laura says. “You can go— I’m sure you’ll want to start preparing right away. The junket’s not far off.”

Anne nods, standing from the table for the second time that morning and heads for the door.

“And Anne?”

“Yes?”

“ _Remember_ ,” Laura adds. “Keep it professional.”

“Right. Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

Anne throws herself into her research as she tends to do with any story she tackles— although there’s no denying the prep work she does this time around is different because whether she likes it or not, she’s incredibly invested in the source.

She heads straight from work over to the big AMC on 19th and Broadway the same day she gets assigned to the press junket, and buys a ticket to Gilbert’s latest film. It’s a heart-wrenching war drama that simultaneously leaves Anne on the edge of her seat, and softly crying into a handful of gritty concession stand napkins. Her biggest takeaway is that it’s not hard to see why these days, it seems as though it’s impossible to hearthe name “Gilbert Blythe” without also hearing words like “SAG Awards,” “Golden Globes,” and “The Oscars” used in the same sentence.

Anne’s research doesn’t stop there. She also makes it a point to binge the last few projects Gilbert’s been in. She fills up the space in between feature films with reading up on every bit of news she can dig up on the new _Pride and Prejudice_ adaptation. When she’s not reading or watching movies, Anne finds herself turning to YouTube, where she devours nearly every interview she can find that Gilbert’s ever done.

The night before the junket, she heads to a screening room in midtown to watch an early showing of _Pride and Prejudice_ along with a slew of other journalists. For the second time that week, Anne finds herself moved to tears by Gilbert’s impeccable talent.

On her way back to the studio she's subletting, Anne finds herself wondering vaguely if maybe she should figure out a way to reach out to him— to let Gilbert know that she’ll be in attendance tomorrowcovering on behalf of Pop Cultured.

She’s not even sure if his cell phone number is still the same as it was back in high school, and uses that to reason that even if she wanted to reach out, it would likely be damn near impossible. In the back of her mind, Anne knows it’s an easy crutch to fall back on— thanks to the internet, there are plenty of ways the get in touch with someone these days even if you don’t have their number on hand. After all, how many times has she, herself, reached out to a source via Twitter in an effort to score an interview?

The thought eats away at her all day, and she spends the better part of the night before the junket lying in bed in the darkness of her room with only the faint glow of her phone screen for company. Her fingers fly furiously over the small keyboard on the bright touchscreen as she tries to come up with something clever to say.

_“Hey, Gil! Hope you’re doing well, I just wanted to let you know that—“_

_“Sorry to slide into your DMs like this— I wasn’t sure if you still—“_

_“Fancy seeing you around here on the internet— and funnily enough I’ll be seeing you soon in person—“_

She spends even more time with her thumb hovering over the “message” button on Gilbert’s ( _verified_ ) Instagram profile until she musters up the courage to click on it. Even when she does, the victory feels hollow when Anne can’t actually bring herself to send off the message she’s copy and pasted over.

A frustrated huff escapes her lips as she deletes the message for the umpteenth time before turning her phone off and hastily tossing it onto the nightstand by her bed.

When morning comes, Anne wakes from a restless sleep. She’s tired, but the nervous butterflies currently taking up permanent residence in her stomach are more than enough to leave her feeling wide-eyed and awake. She does her best to go through the motions of getting ready, repeatedly reminding herself that all of the evidence points to the fact that most likely, everything will go just fine today.

_You’re good at what you do— you’ve got this..._

_It’s just an interview— you’ve done hundreds of them— this isn’t any different..._

_So what if you think he’s kind of, sort of beautiful— Hollywood is full of beautiful people..._

_If you survived an embarrassing encounter with that ridiculously attractive actor from the superhero movie at last year’s comic-con, you can sure as hell survive Gilbert Blythe..._

Anne pretends it works. That repeating affirmations to herself is helping to quell the nerves and turn them into confidence as she pulls a thick forest green dress over her head, smoothing it down before trying to do something about her wild red hair. When her fingers prove uncooperative, she gives up on trying to pin it up in favor of sticking with a simple, singular long braid that she lets hang over one shoulder across her front.

And she’s _still_ not thinking of Gilbert as she hops on the subway and heads toward Columbus Circle— decidedly _not_ thinking about whether she’ll still see bits and pieces of the boy she used to know in the man he’s now become, or if the glitz and glamour of Hollywood will have done away with that. If time in Tinseltown will have polished him up and repainted him in washed out colors that barely hint at the fond memory of him that hangs like a masterpiece in her mind.

At some point she gives up and lets her imagination run wild, her thoughts bringing her back to the last time she ever saw him…

_“Nervous?” Gilbert asks, watching on as Anne bounces on the balls of her feet next to him._

_“More like a healthy combination of anxious and excited,” she replies. “I can’t believe this is it.”_

_“I know— it all went by so fast! It’s going to be weird not competing against you next year.”_

_“Guess you’ll just have to find someone else to keep you on your toes out in Toronto.”_

_“I’d have my work cut out for me if I tried…I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re a bit of a tough act to follow.”_

_Anne rolls her eyes good-naturedly at his comment._

_“I’m sure brainy girls will be a dime a dozen out at U of T— especially in the medical department.”_

_“Maybe,” says Gilbert thoughtfully. “None like you though— you’re one in a million, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”_

_“I…thanks, Gilbert,” Anne whispers, cheeks going a pretty shade of red as a blush creeps across her face. “I’ll miss you too.”_

_“So what do you say, Cuthbert?” he asks, shooting her that same soft smile that never fails to leave her feeling dizzy. “Pen pals?”_

_“You_ really _want to waste whatever free time you’ll get out at university writing snail mail to_ me _?” Anne asks in disbelief._

_“Come on, it might be fun!” he quips playfully. “I thought you, of all people, would find the idea of a good old fashioned letter correspondence to be…what’s that phrase you’re always using? ‘Ever so romantical’?”_

_“I can’t tell if you’re teasing or not…” Anne says after a while._

_“I’d_ never _joke about something as serious as writing to_ you _, Carrots.”_

 _“You know what, Gilbert Blythe? In the spirit of graduation, I’m going to pretend that I_ didn’t _just hear you trying to dredge up that nasty old nickname.”_

_He chuckles, muttering something about how it’s very generous of her to be so merciful, before they slip into a comfortable silence. He breaks it moments later, voice coming out cautious and unsure._

_“Anne…?” Gilbert starts. “There’s something I wanted to say— to tell you— before we leave for university.”_

_“Can’t it wait, Gil? That’s my cue,” says Anne as the marching band finishes up their rendition of pomp and circumstance._

_“I…of course— it’s not important,” he says finally. “I just…wanted to say good luck on your speech.”_

_“Thanks Gil,” Anne says, through a wide smile. “You too!”_

_He shoots her a half smile in return, and it’s the last thing Anne sees before heading out on to the stage to deliver her heartfelt valedictorian speech…_

The ghosts of her past fade away when the train pulls up to the Columbus Circle stop, and Anne pulls her winter coat closer as she walks through the crisp winter air to the hotel where the junket is meant to take place.

The lobby of the Mandarin Oriental is dark and swanky, and Anne finds herself grateful for the mood lighting. She hopes the warm wash of yellow might do something in the way of cancelling out the rosy flush that sweeps across her cheeks as she stumbles over her words while informing the concierge that she’s there for the _Pride and Prejudice_ press event. She stands her ground under the steely gaze of the security guard by the elevators, showing him her credentials while willing herself to stop looking so nervous.

_Get it together, Cuthbert_ \-- _act like you've been here before!_ she says to herself, watching as the guard slowly swipes his card on the keypad before pushing a button.

Her anxiousness makes the elevator ding sound loud and harsh against her ears, and Anne's grateful when, after stepping inside, the doors slowly slide shut, and she's finally left alone to her own devices. She lets her shoulders hunch, hands coming up to rest across her abdomen so she can feel her belly expand and deflate as she takes deep breaths, and paces in the small space the elevator provides. Her eyes flick periodically up to the illuminated numbers so she can keep an eye on their steady ascent:

twenty-six…

tweny-seven…

tweny-eight...

Anne gives herself until floor thirty-four to let the anxious feeling course through her veins. And by the time the elevator dings, alerting her to the fact that she's reached floor thirty-six, she’s stood up straight, squared her shoulders, and fixed a small, inviting smile on her face.

She checks in with a friendly assistant holding a clipboard before going over to stand with a growing group of press. An older woman named Nicole, who’s work she’s been following for a while, proves to be a welcome sight. Nicole, in turn, wastes no time in excitedly pulling her into a conversation with a handful of other reporters who are passionately discussing their all-time favorite Austen adaptations.

Anne tries to keep up, but she finds herself distracted by the sounds taking shape in the small lobby as they wait— of reporters engaging in pleasant chit-chat...of the clacking of keys as one among them furiously types away, no doubt in an effort to meet a looming deadline...of paper crinkling as others leaf through the press materials, brushing up on film specs as they jot down last minute questions to ask once things get underway.

The familiarity of the sounds are strangely comforting, and it reminds her of everything she loves about her job. Anne's so swept up in feeling something other than sheer nervousness for the first time since she woke up that morning, she almost misses the sound of her name floating through the room as it cuts through the hustle and bustle of the space.

“ _Anne_ …?”

For a moment, it feels as though everything stops— like the world around her freezes, as though the way it sounds when he calls out to her, his voice quiet, hesitant, tinged in disbelief, has served as the catalyst that forces time to stand still for the both of them.

She knows who the voice belongs to. She’d always been able to recognize the familiar timbre of its sound when they were growing up. But it’s been years since she’s heard it in person, and she’s surprised his voice still has the ability to cut through the noise, instantly becoming the loudest thing in the world to her ears no matter how softly he speaks.

Anne feels her breath get lodged in her throat as she slowly turns and steps away from the small group she’d been conversing with, eyes immediately finding Gilbert’s where he stands at the doors of the elevator.

She hardly has time to take him in from afar before he’s suddenly moving toward her, shrugging off the hands of both assistants behind him as he crosses the room, unaware of all the eyes following him as he makes his way through a thick throng of photojournalists.

Gilbert doesn’t stop until he’s scooped Anne up in a hug so fierce it jumpstarts her breathing again. For a moment she panics when she realizes the curious onlookers have stopped staring at Gilbert and are now staring curiously at _her_ , no doubt wondering why the star of the film they're all here to report on suddenly felt compelled to make such a big show of embracing one of their own. But when she feels Gilbert breathe in deeply from where he’s got his nose pressed against her temple, she can’t help the way she gives in— melting in to the embrace as her arms come up to wrap just as firmly around his neck.

She’s got no clue how long they stay like that before Gilbert pulls back, eyes roaming over her face as though he still can’t believe she’s really _there_.

“You look good, Gil,” Anne offers through a smile when the silence becomes too much.

“It’s been too long, Carrots,” he replies, lips spreading into that same playful grin he always seems to wear whenever Anne’s brain dredges up memories of their time spent growing up together.

He tugs gently at her braid, and Anne is so wonderstruck by the way he's beaming down at her, she forgets to be mad at him for bringing up the old nickname she so despises, and lets out a breathless giggle instead.

She sees the questions bubbling beneath the surface take shape in his expressive eyebrows, but before Anne can offer up any sort of explanation, they're interrupted by a rather frazzled looking man in a smart suit who's finally pushed his way through the crowd.

" _Mr. Blythe!_ You can't just _run off_ into the crowd like that! It could be _dangerous_!" the man says anxiously.

“Calm down, Ryan— did you see how many security guards they had posted down stairs? I’m pretty sure no one’s getting up here unless they’re supposed to be here,” Gilbert replies good-naturedly.

“Yes _…well_ , try telling that to Miss Sloane— she’ll fire me faster than anyone can say ‘ _and the Oscar goes to_ ’ if I lose sight of you for even a _second!_ ” Ryan says stiffly. “And as much as I hate to break up this little… _reunion_ ,” he continues, eyes flicking curiously over to Anne. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal you away Mr. Blythe— the press junket’s about to start, and I’m sure Miss…?”

“Cuthbert,” Anne blurts out, sticking her hand out toward the assistant in an effort to regain some semblance of professionality. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. With Pop Cultured magazine.”

“Pop Cultured **,** huh?” Gilbert says, eyes squinting in amusement as a grin tugs on his lips.

“Yes,” Anne says weakly, suddenly wishing they had more time to catch up properly.

“Charmed,” the assistant says, taking Anne’s hand and giving it a firm grip. “Ryan Goldsmith with United Talent Agency." His tone is much more polite now than it had been when he’d been running to catch up with Gilbert, as though Ryan, like Anne, had been striving to slip back into his professional persona. "And as lovely as it is to meet a friend of Mr. Blythe’s, I’m afraid I really _do_ have to steal him away now. Besides, it looks like they’re about to let you lot in.”

Ryan nods toward the double doors that lead into the banquet hall, and when Anne glances behind her shoulder, she catches sight of the photographers beginning to file inside.

“Guess I should get in there…” Anne says.

She’d meant to say it to the both of them, but then her eyes land on Gilbert’s and she finds it hard to drag them away for long enough to keep acknowledging the assistant that’s beginning to fidget again. When it seems as though Anne and Gilbert are all too happy to continue drawing out the moment, Ryan takes it upon himself to begin leading Gilbert away with a gentle, but firm hand to one shoulder that guides him in the right direction.

On impulse, Anne takes Gilbert’s hand in hers before he gets too far and gives it a tight squeeze. “But it really _is_ nice to see you, Gil.”

“You too, Anne,” Gilbert says. “See you in there?”

He offers her a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when she nods back at him, keeping a gentle hold of her hand until Ryan’s pulled him so far away, they’ve both got no choice but to let go.

She waits until Ryan’s ushered Gilbert into a smaller conference room off to the side before making her way over to stand with the group of reporters already queueing up to get into the banquet hall.

Anne finds the beautiful space usually reserved for weddings set up like a proper press conference once she finally gets inside, with rows upon rows of chairs positioned before a rather long table set up on a raised stage. A walkway has been left in the middle-- likely for whoever’s been tasked with moving the microphone around the room to reporters with questions-- and Anne watches as one of the event organizers rushes up the aisle so they can hastily set up the table with place cards printed with the names of cast and crew members in attendance. Meanwhile, the front of the room has been transformed into a small, makeshift red carpet, where photographers and broadcast journalist are already beginning to squish together and set up their equipment in spots marked along a velvet rope.

Anne pauses, mid-way toward the open seats, distracted by the sound of cameras shuttering and the sight of flashing lights. Instead, she moves closer to the hustle and bustle of the small carpet, careful not to get in the way, or trip over any equipment wires as she casually wanders along the back of the press line. She stops only when she finds an inconspicuous spot that offers up a decent enough view.

She’s spent the last few days watching way too many videos on YouTube of Gilbert in action promoting this or that project. She doesn’t _need_ to stick around for this. But Anne can’t help herself. She’s _curious._ And she wants to know what it’s like to watch Gilbert work first-hand— and _not_ through the lens of someone else’s camera.

He makes for a striking figure when he finally appears, slipping into an effortlessly casual pose in front of the photo pit with its rowdy cameramen who call out directions, urging him to pose this way and that. Gilbert graciously accommodates as many of them as he can before Ryan steps in, offering up a quick “thank you” to the photographers before guiding him over to the first interview. 

Anne studies him as Gilbert works, thinking that in many ways, a lot of the values instilled in him by his father before he passed have ended up serving him well for this particular part of the job. He’s the epitome of gentlemanly charm, making sure to shake hands with each reporter and videographer before they even begin to ask questions. He's engaged, devoting his attention to whoever he happens to be speaking to in the moment for however long it lasts, offering each a kind smile, before he moves on to the next person, and the same cycle begins again.

Anne’s stomach gives a swoop when she sees Gilbert’s face unexpectedly light up. Her heart gives a godawful clench moments later when her brain catches up and realizes it’s because his co-star, Winifred Rose, has successfully snuck up behind him. They do the rest of the interviews on the red carpet as a pair. Anne can’t hear what they’re saying, but she can tell just by looking at them that they play off of each other incredibly well.

She’s seen all of the speculation online of course, about how Gilbert and Winnie have allegedly been secretly dating ever since production on _Pride and Prejudice_ started up nearly two years ago. And though both have maintained that they’re close, but nothing more than friends, it’s hard not to buy into the idea that they’re madly in love.

Anne knows that the subject of who Gilbert _is_ or _isn’t_ dating shouldn’t bother her either way. Firstly because Gilbert’s never really been hers to begin with. But also because she’s not here to win him over. Even so, she still can’t help the way seeing them together makes her feel as though someone’s just doused her with a bucket of ice water that’s chilled her to the very core. Because it’s far too familiar— the sight of Gilbert fawning over a smart, charming, clever girl who’s much more beautiful than she could ever be. And suddenly she’s back in the halls of Avonlea High all over again, watching as Gilbert holds Christine Stuart’s hand in one of his, while the other keeps her books tucked under his arm as he walks her to class.

She shakes her head in an effort to do away with the foolish feelings of a teenage girl, before Anne forces herself to stop looking and walk away, heading instead, over to snag a seat before all of the good spots are taken.

Anne selects a chair near the middle aisle closer toward the front of the stage. She soon finds herself making pleasant chit-chat with a man from Variety, whom she vaguely remembers from the screening the night before. She excuses herself from the conversation just before the cast and crew hit the stage so she can join a slew of other reporters in placing her voice recorder on the table.

Moments later, Gilbert and Winifred take their seats, and a representative for the film wastes no time in kicking off the junket. Dozens of reporters around her are quick to shoot their hands up in the air, hoping to get a turn to ask a question, and suddenly the mic is quickly moving around the room.

Anne listens intently as journalists ask about everything from shooting on location in England, to the costumes, to how extensive the casting process was for the film-- which boasts more than a few newcomers in supporting roles.

Her ears perk up in intense interest when the Variety correspondent next to her gets handed the microphone and stands to ask Gilbert about his performance.

“The quiet yearning you brought to Mr. Darcy was just incredible,” says the man to Anne’s right. “Did you pull from real life experience in an effort to ensure you could really bring that emotion to life on the big screen?”

Gilbert nods silently. To the rest of the room it might seem as though he’d simply been processing the question in an effort to come up with a thoughtful response. Anne, however, wonders if anyone else has noticed the subtle clench of his jaw. Or the way she’s almost certain he’d lifted his left hand in an effort to dig his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck, before thinking better of it and lowering it to rub his fingers along his splendid chin instead.

“Our screenwriter did a fantastic job with adapting the novel for the big screen,” Gilbert says finally. “It’s all the direction I needed to bring Mr. Darcy to life in my own way.”

Anne makes eye contact with one of the publicists who’s been tasked withselecting reporters to ask questions, and before she knows it, the microphone’s been passed to her and she’s standing up.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert with Pop Cultured,” she says quickly. “The script _is_ quite beautifully adapted from the source material, but even so, I’m curious to know if any of you had read the book prior to signing on for the film, or alternatively, if any of you picked it up after having been cast in the hopes of gaining a better understanding of your characters?”

“I can take this one, if that’s alright with everyone,” Winifred says, glancing up and down both sides of the table before she turns her attention back to Anne. “Firstly, can I just say that I _love_ your dress? That color looks so lovely with your hair.”

“Thank you,” Anne says a bit bewildered over the unexpected compliment.

“To answer your question,” the actress continues. “I was a massive fan of Austen growing up— both of her books, and of the film adaptations. So getting to portray Elizabeth Bennet on screen was a bit of a dream come true. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know for me, personally, bringing her to life on screen felt more or less like I was visiting with an old friend, because I had already spent so much of my life loving her in book form.”

“Gilbert, though, is a bit of a newcomer to the good word of Jane Austen, aren’t you?” Winifred adds, elbowing her co-star good-naturedly.

“I had a friend back home who was quite the Austen enthusiast,” Gilbert begins, shooting Anne a knowing grin. “Sort of wish I’d listened to her back then and read the book sooner.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Anne doesn’t ask him to because she knows he’s talking about her.

"Also, I agree with Winnie, here..." he adds as an afterthought. "That really _is_ a lovely dress."

She rolls her eyes at him, which only makes the smile on Gilbert’s face grow even wider.

“Thank you for your thoughtful answer… _Miss Rose_ ,” Anne says into the microphone, drawing a hearty chuckle from the room.

When the press conference comes to a close, Anne hangs back and waits for the crowd to dwindle before heading up to retrieve her recorder from where she’d placed it on the table. She’s in the middle of saving and labeling the audio file from the press conference when she feels someone come up behind her.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert— I was wondering when we might cross paths at one of these things.”

The voice sounds familiar, but Anne can’t quite place it until she turns around and takes in the blonde woman dressed in a smart pantsuit standing behind her.

“ _Josie Pye_?” She says through a grin, her voice tinged in slight disbelief. “Wow! Between you, me, and Gilbert, you’d think we’d all have showed up at this fancy hotel for a reunion— you aren’t hiding any of the other Avonlea crew around here somewhere, are you?”

“If anyone else is here, they’re hiding from me, too,” Josie says through a giggle before moving forward to pull Anne into a hug.

“What are you doing here?” Anne asks when she pulls away.

“You don’t know? I’m Gilbert’s manager!” Josie explains. “I poached him and brought him over to UTAabout a year ago. CAA was pissed, but it was probably for the best. I think he likes keeping people around that he knows have a vested interest in him that goes _beyond_ making money.”

“In that case, I’m glad he has you in his corner,” Anne says meaningfully. “Of course, I don’t know what it’s like to be at the center of all of _this_ ,” she says sweeping her hand across the room. “But I can imagine finding people you can trust can’t be easy…it must get lonely…and exhausting.”

“I think you might understand better than some. After all, you've got a front row seat to the circus,” Josie says quietly. “You’re here with Pop Cultured, right? Are you based out here in New York?”

“Yeah!” Anne says answering the first question. “Not based out here though— I’m just on temporary assignment. I’m actually heading back to Los Angeles in a couple of weeks.”

“For the Golden Globes?” Josie asks wryly.

“What gave you that idea?” Anne jokes back.

“Just a hunch,” the other girl laughs. “Is Laura Hartley still with the magazine?”

“She is! Still running the show as editor in chief,” Anne confirms.

“ _Off_ the record…she’s _very_ persistent,” Josie whispers conspiratorially. “That’s the first thing Gilbert’s old manager told me when he moved over— that the one thing he _wouldn’t_ miss about having him as a client were the constant emails from Hartley asking whether or not Gil might have changed his mind about his no long-form interviews stance.”

“ _Off_ the record…?” Anne starts slowly. “I probably would have ended up on _Pride and Prejudice_ duty even if Gilbert _wasn’t_ starring in it…but I won’t lie to you— she _did_ also send me along hoping I might be able to convince him to reconsider….”

“And what did you tell her?” prompts Josie.

“I told her that I would ask because it’s my job, but that I wouldn’t push it.”

Josie grins as though finding Anne’s answer to be satisfactory. “If she brings it up to me, I’ll tell her you asked, but the answer is still _no_.”

“Thanks Jo,” Anne says meaningfully. “I really appreciate that.”

“Would it help you out?”

Gilbert’s voice ringing out from behind them causes Anne to freeze up for a moment. She and Josie had been so busy catching up, neither had noticed that he’d slipped back into the banquet hall and approached them at some point after everyone else had filed out of the room.

“Come again?” Anne asks.

“If I said yes…if I agreed to do a sit-down interview for the cover,” Gilbert continues. “Would it help you out?”

“I _won’t_ be the reason you agree to do something you really don’t want to do,” Anne says, squaring her jaw stubbornly.

“But _would_ it help you out?” He asks again.

Anne stares at him for a moment, as though searching Gilbert’s hazel eyes for an answer to his own question. In the end, she gives him an honest response— and one that she _knows_ her editor in chief would adamantly disapprove of if she were there to hear it.

“It would certainly make my editors happy…but it’s not going to make or break me-- _or_ my career.”

“And…would it _just_ be _you_ doing it? Asking the questions?” Gilbert asks slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Yes,” Anne whispers. “Just me.” She clears her throat, shaking herself out of whatever trance Gilbert’s gaze had locked her in. “If that’s what you wanted.”

“If it’s just you…then I’ll do it,” Gilbert replies.

“Fantastic!” Josie says, clapping her hands together.

The loud declaration is enough to make both Anne and Gilbert jump a little, as though they’d each forgotten she’d been there the whole time.

“We’ve got a busy next few days before we head out of the city,” the blonde continues. She looks just behind Anne’s shoulder and motions for Ryan to come over. Unbeknownst to Anne, the assistant had been hovering just a few feet away. “Ryan, what’s our schedule look like tomorrow?”

The assistant rattles off a list of a few morning shows that Gilbert’s set to participate in, before listing off a few other obligations a bit later in the day.

“Anything between 11am and 1pm?” Josie asks.

“That block’s free, Miss Sloane,” he confirms.

“Great! Does that work on your end, Anne? We can swing by the Pop Culturedoffice if so.”

“11am is perfect,” Anne says. She pauses for a moment before speaking again. “ _Sloane_ …?” She asks before quickly putting two and two together. “You and Charlie...?”

Josie smiles prettily before holding out her left hand so Anne can take it in hers and get a closer look at the very impressive wedding ring sitting proudly on her fourth finger. “I know I spent all that time in high school going on, and on about how I'd never wind up with an Avonlea boy…but Charlie did a lot of growing up at university, and, _well_ …” Josie sighs. “I guess it was just meant to be!”

“I’m happy for you,” Anne says, smiling back at her old friend.

Josie gives her hand a small squeeze before they make their way out of the room. Anne rides the elevator back down to the main lobby with the three of them, plus a few other assistants. They bid farewell with Josie and the rest of Gilbert’s entourage heading toward the back of the hotel where a car is waiting to whisk them away— but not before Gilbert has a chance to pull Anne into his arms for the second time that afternoon.

She feels a tingle shoot down her spine when Gilbert whispers a quick “See you tomorrow.” right by her ear before he pulls back and lets himself be lead away.

Anne watches on as they meet up with another small group of cast members, trying not to look as crestfallen as her heart feels when she takes in the way Gilbert’s face lights up yet again as Winifred Rose plasters herself to his side. She looks for a moment as they laugh together before she turns and leaves through the front entrance.

Her head and her heart fill with convoluted thoughts as Anne rides the subway back toward the newsroom. She tries her best to ignore a familiar ache that’s slowly beginning to bloom again within her chest, as though stretching from where it’s been laying dormant in a deep dark corner of her heart.

She tries, as well, to ignore the way her mind keeps replaying the moment Gilbert saw her from where he’d stood frozen on the spot by the elevator. It plays over and over again-- like a broken record that keeps skipping back in a cruel attempt to rub her nose in the fact that there’s also a part of her heart that doesn’t ache. A part that instead, still happens to sing for Gilbert Blythe just like it always had.

She pushes those thoughts out of her head as well, tries to drown them out by shoving a pair of headphones in her ears and turning the volume up on a podcast she’d been meaning to listen to. It doesn’t matter— not any of it. Not the aching pain, or the pleasant way her heartflutters when she recalls how nice it had been when he'd pulled her close.

Because surely, Anne thinks to herself, if she and Gilbert were meant to be anything more than friends, then they would have figured that out long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all...thank you all SO SO much for your incredibly kind words about Chapter 1! This fic is very much my baby so the fact that y'all are here for it means the world!
> 
> I wasn't expecting to get this next chapter out so soon, but I just couldn't wait any longer to share the moment where Anne and Gil finally meet again face to face. We're full steam ahead from this point on, so I hope you're all looking forward to that!
> 
> And thank you in advance to all of you who are kind enough to leave kudos and/or comments letting me know what you thought! I know I say this all the time, but getting to read your thoughts/reactions to the things I'm writing and putting out into the world really **does** give me all the warm fuzzies!
> 
> (also please don't expect daily updates-- I know I've spoiled you all with two chapters in 24 hours, but I definitely can't write this fast on the regular.-- this fic is just an incredibly special case!)
> 
> In between updates, you can come hang out with me over on [Tumblr](xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com) and/or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE)!


	3. Chapter 3

Anne gets to the newsroom early the next day— just to make sure she has enough time to pace her office and get her head on straight before Gilbert’s arrival, but the clock on her desk still ticks closer to 11 a.m. much quicker than she’d like it to. 

Gone is the thrill she usually feels while on the precipice of embarking on a brand new story. Instead Anne’s stomach twists in knots as she grapples with the notion that despite going into this assignment with the firm belief that her feelings for Gilbert were nonexistent, it was getting harder and harder to deny the truth. 

She’d always just assumed that her infatuation with him had run its course-- aided and abetted by leaving Avonlea and going to different universities, and existing for the first time, in a long time, without Gilbert constantly hovering in her orbit. Now though, Anne was starting to realize that her feelings hadn’t evaporated gradually at all. Instead, it felt more or less like they’d just been doing a damn good job of hibernating somewhere deep in the far corners of her heart. And now that the universe had decided the time was right to throw them back together again? It was beginning to feel as though Gilbert’s very presence was custom made to remind her of all of the things she’d always loved about him.

When Anita from the lobby rings her office at precisely 10:58 and tells her that _a Mr. Blythe and his manager_ have arrived for her, Anne squeezes her eyes shut tight, and takes three deep breaths before she collects her things and heads down to meet them. 

She spies the hopeful smile Gilbert shoots her when she descends from a short staircase and is immediately pulled into a hug by Josie. Anne knows she puts her foot in it the moment she pulls away from the other girl, and sticks her hand out for Gilbert to shake instead of giving him the same treatment. She stammers through some forced small talk about other publications that also have offices in the building, and attempts to hide the embarrassed flush burning its way across her face by keeping her back to Josie and Gilbert as she leads them up to the conference room where they’ll be conducting the interview. 

She’d been hoping it would be easier. That getting over the initial shock to the system that seeing Gilbert again in person had provided would have made being around him going forward easier to stomach given that she would know what to expect. If anything, it felt as though the tension between them was only growing thicker by the minute. She finds it irritating and unnerving-- the way it's impossible to discern whether the tension exists purely because she hasn’t quite figured out how to act around him yet, and that’s somehow putting Gilbert on edge; or if it’s because they’re both reacting to any sort of semblance of a lingering spark that might still exist from their youth. Anne is, however, grateful for Josie’s presence, and she’s hopeful that having another person in the room with them will act as some sort of incredibly welcome buffer. The relief turns out to be short-lived when Josie begins to excuse herself as soon as she’s walked with them over to the conference room in question.

“Normally I stick around to make sure there’s no funny business afoot, but I trust you two to behave yourselves— you _will_ be alright on your own, won’t you?” Josie asks. She doesn’t bother to wait for either of them to respond before she answers on their behalf. “Great! I’ll be back in an hour to pick him up. Does that work for you, Anne?”

For her part, all Anne can do is nod deftly and watch on as Josie swiftly lets herself out of the conference room. She keeps looking as her last semblance of a lifeline disappears down the hall. It’s only then that she turns to face Gilbert, who’s standing by the table looking unsure as he waits for her direction.

“Have a seat,” she says stiffly. “Anywhere is fine.”

She gives Gilbert the opportunity to settle into a seat of his choosing, before she pulls out a chair for herself and sits one spot away from him.

“So…have you had a good morning?” Gilbert offers as Anne silently makes quick work of setting up the small amount of equipment she’s brought with her. 

“Oh! Yes, it’s going fine,” she says with a bit too much enthusiasm. She fumbles with her notepad for a moment, flipping over to a blank page before she hits a red button on the voice recorder. 

“And how was your holiday season? Were you able to make it back to Avonlea to see Marilla?” 

“We should get started right away if that’s ok with you,” she says instead of answering his question. “I know one hour seems like a lot of time, but it’s not really in hindsight.”

“ _Right_ …” Gilbert mutters hollowly. “Yeah. _Sure_. Whatever you want.” 

She glances up at the tonelessness of his voice, and a wash of guilt floods her insides when she takes in the sight of his slanted eyebrows coupled with a flash of pain she sees flicker in his eyes for only a second before he averts his gaze. She longs to reach out and smooth out the crease of worry beginning to form between his eyes— to perhaps pull him into a fierce embrace and hold on until the tension she spies in his hunched shoulders leaves his body. And all of a sudden, Anne feels awful for the clinical tone she’d decided to adopt in an effort to keep Gilbert an arm’s length away. Feels wretched when she realizes that _she’s_ the reason why he’s suddenly folded in on himself.

The magnitude of the situation hits her like a ton of bricks— the reality of Gilbert agreeing to do this one thing, despite how uncomfortable it made him feel…of Gilbert only agreeing to do the interview because it was Anne who would be asking the questions...of Gilbert agreeing because he trusted her…and he’d put faith in the idea that Anne would treat him better than she was currently treating him right now. The extent of his blind trust in her is enough to shatter whatever resolve she’d been desperately clinging on to going into all of this.

Anne doesn’t take her eyes off of his as she reaches blindly out in front of her until her hand finds the recording device on the table. She turns it off with the quick press of a button. 

“I’m not doing a very good job here, am I?” she mutters mostly to herself.

Gilbert quirks an eyebrow up at her words, but Anne doesn’t wait for him to weigh in, or try and assure her that she’s doing her job just fine before she speaks again.

“You know what? I think I have a better idea,” she says as a small smile begins to tug across her lips. “Something that might make this more enjoyable, and less like pulling teeth.”

Gilbert laughs nervously at her ominous proposition. “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

The crease that had been taking up permanent residence between his brows suddenly melts away as Gilbert cautiously perks up. The wash of relief that floods Anne’s insides when he does so is instantaneous.

“Like, right now?” he questions. “But— what about the interview?”

“We can do both,” Anne promises. He doesn’t necessarily agree, but Gilbert also doesn’t oppose to her proposition, so Anne takes the look of open intrigue that crosses his face as a sign that she should push forward. “Come on, and don’t forget your coat and stuff— I know it doesn’t get as cold out here as it does back home, but it’s still winter in New York City!”

She leads him down the hall and over to her office, leaving Gilbert to take in the few nicknacks strewn across her small workspace while she rummages through a desk drawer. 

Anne lets out a triumphant “ _A-HA_!” when she finds what she’s looking for, and motions for him to step outside so they can leave. On impulse, Anne grabs a baseball cap from the shelf behind her and tosses it at Gilbert, who catches it easily, before shoving the hat onto his head, pulling the visor down a bit lower than most might wear it in an effort to conceal his face.

She can feel his eyes on her as she deftly makes quick work of untangling some wires, plugging them in to a much fancier recording device as she leads the way out toward the elevator and through the main lobby of the building. Anne doesn’t speak again until they’re out on the street.

“I thought maybe it might be nice if we just walked and talked,” Anne says, holding out the recording device in one hand, and a set of lapel mics that she’s already plugged into the gadget in another. “Do you mind if I clip you?”

“A walk sounds nice,” Gilbert says, flashing her the first genuine smile she’s seen him share with her all morning. “And I don’t mind.”

She takes a step toward him, fingers coming up to grip Gilbert’s dark grey scarf. The soft knit material gives much easier than she thought it would, and the small tug she exerts on it inadvertently ends up offering Anne a generous view of the long column of Gilbert’s throat. She tries her best not to stare, focusing instead on trying to get her fingers to cooperate as she struggles with the rigid clasp on the tiny microphone in her right hand. In the fumble, her knuckles accidentally graze a patch of soft skin near the tip of his collarbone, and Anne’s mouth goes dry as she watches the way the accidental brush of her skin against his makes Gilbert swallow thickly, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in a way that leaves Anne feeling hypnotized as she sways toward him. Gilbert’s hand shooting up to steady her by her elbow is enough to break the spell.

“Sorry,” Anne blurts out. “These clasps are so finicky-- _oh!_ Got it!”

She hopes Gilbert doesn’t read too much into the deep exhale she lets out after she’s successfully clipped the microphone on his scarf and can finally take a much needed step back. Anne busies herself with making quick work of testing his audio to ensure the device is picking up his voice alright, before she clips a matching mic onto herself with much more ease than she had Gilbert’s.

She stays close to Gilbert’s right side as she hits record before slipping the device into the left pocket of her coat.

“We’ll have to stick close together— these wires aren’t that long,” Anne says apologetically. “But they’ll still work just fine.”

“I don’t mind staying close— but I’ll let you lead the way if you don’t mind. I’m not too familiar with the city," Gilbert says. 

She’s glad to do as he says and lead, steering them first around the corner and over to a tangerine colored truck where she places an order for two large coffees. Anne spies Gilbert reaching into his back pocket and quickly shoves her company credit card into the cashier’s hand before he can get his wallet out.

"Don't start," Anne chides when he looks as if he's about to say something with regards to her paying for the both of them. “Besides, I’m not even using my own money— it's on the company.” she reasons, handing him a bright orange cup full of piping hot liquid. 

They move to one side so Anne can prepare her own coffee with a healthy dose of cream and sugar while judging Gilbert good-naturedly for taking his black. 

" _Just black_? That's so _boring_!" she teases. 

"Hey! Don't knock it till you try it!" he laughs. 

In a moment of boldness, Anne reaches out and plucks the cup from Gilbert's hand. She holds his gaze with a determined one of her own as she slowly raises the cup to her own mouth and takes a sip. He laughs even harder over the way her face scrunches up at the taste.

“I take it back,” Anne says shuddering as she returns the paper cup to his outstretched hand. “It’s _not_ boring— that’s just _gross_!”

“It’s an acquired taste,” he justifies through an impish grin as he takes a sip of his coffee. He pauses, staring at Anne thoughtfully for a moment after lowering the cup. “You use mango chapstick though, don’t you? I can taste it— on the lid."

“Sorry,” Anne says, feeling sheepish over rudely helping herself to his drink without even asking in an effort to prove a silly point.

“Don’t be,” he says gently. “I happen to be a big fan of mangoes.”

He pairs his words with a wink that leaves Anne feeling flustered. She catches a hint of a playful glint dancing around in his irises— one that she remembers from their school days, though she can’t quite recall if he’d always been this playful or if the trait had increased as he’d grown older and more sure of himself.

“Clock’s ticking, Blythe— let’s go,” she stammers out before steering them past the Astor Place subway stop and over toward Broadway. From there, she turns them down toward SoHo.

As they head down the street together, she starts off slow, asking Gilbert about mundane things like what he had for breakfast, or whether they’d gotten any traffic while they were out and about this morning. They’re careful to keep close proximity so as not to disconnect the mic wires extending out from Anne’s pocket, their shoulders jostling together repeatedly as a result. When their bumping limbs causes Anne’s coffee to slosh out and drip onto her wrist for the fifth time, Gilbert swiftly loops her left arm through his right and pulls her closer to his side.

“You’ll get more coffee on your sleeve than you will in your mouth at that rate,” he reasons as she looks up at him. “Besides, you did say it was best if we stuck close together.”

Anne allows it despite her better judgement, thinking it feels far too formal and familiar to walk down the street on Gilbert’s arm, the warmth of his body seeping into her own in every place their sides touch. Anne does her best to seem unfazed as she leads them away from the hustle and bustle of Broadway and down Crosby instead, carrying on with their small talk as they walk leisurely down the cobblestoned side street. 

She’s careful to keep her tone light and conversational, encouraging Gilbert to ask her questions in turn when he has them, peppering in little comments of her own here and there when he doesn’t, until she feels Gilbert fully relax next to her. It’s only then, when she’s fairly certain he’s forgotten that they’re both mic-ed up, that Anne starts casually inserting questions about his career, his upcoming award show run, and of course, the highly anticipated release of _Pride and Prejudice_.

Gilbert pauses when they come up on Housing Works, eyes delightedly taking in the colorful display of titles in the window.

“It’s one of my favorite used bookstores,” Anne says after a moment. “Do you want to go in?”

He nods happily, and they make their way up the steps and into the store. She watches his face out of the corner of her eye as Gilbert takes in the sight of string lights, twin spiral staircases, and rich brown shelves packed with books. Anne’s always loved the look of the space herself, but she finds that she likes it even more getting to experience it through Gilbert’s eyes as he sees it for the first time. 

She gestures for him to pick an area of the store to start in, and Anne’s secretly delighted when he steers them over to the classic literature section first.

“Would you say you’re a fan of the classics?” She asks as she watches his eyes scan the bookshelf before them, fingers running over the spines of the novels until he stops on one that makes his lips quirk up in a small smile.

“I took a few classic literature classes at U of T,” Gilbert says in response to her question. He pulls a tattered paperback from the shelf. “I always _did_ have a love-hate relationship with Hemingway.”

“So which side does _The Sun Also Rises_ fall under?” Anne asks after regarding the faded title.

“Both…sort of…mostly hate— it’s a fine line,” Gilbert says through a chuckle. “There are some nice parts though.”

“Isn’t this the one where Hemingway writes that love is hell on earth?” 

“But not before he says that it’s ‘a lot of fun, too, to be in love,’” Gilbert adds as he returns the book to its rightful place on the shelf.

“He’s not wrong about the hell on earth thing,” Anne says wryly. “But there’s too much heartache in Hemingway, and far too little nuance— that’s why I much prefer my girl Jane Austen.”

She moves them up the shelf and over to the A section, where she reaches up to pull down a copy of _Persuasion_ and hands that to him instead.

“‘You pierce my soul…” she trails off, immediately regretting her decision to quote this particular line while staring into Gilbert’s eyes. She drags her gaze up to the spot between his eyebrows instead before she starts over. “‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope’….still tragically heartbreaking, still hell on earth— but far more romantical of a sentiment.”

“That’s the thing about tragical romances isn’t it?” Gilbert muses. “They’re far more enjoyable when things all work out in the end. There’s too much truth in an unhappy ending.”

“If only love in real life could work out as well as it does in something like _Persuasion_ , or _Emma_ …” Anne mutters.

“Or _Pride and Prejudice_?” Gilbert says softly as he meets her gaze once more.

“Yes,” Anne whispers back.

“You’d think we’d tire of it,” he continues, “Seeing people fall in love over, and over again, but we don’t— not even when we’ve seen the same characters fall in love a thousand times…it still feels like the first time, every time.”

Anne spies an opening to steer the conversation back into the realm of the interview, and focusing her attention on something to do with work clears up a bit of the foggy haze that being in Gilbert’s presence has always had a tendency to put her in.

“Is that why you weren’t afraid to take on Mr. Darcy? Because even though we’ve seen a fair few adaptations, watching Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet fall in love _still_ feels like the first time, every time?"

“I think it’s easy to be intimidated by taking on a role that’s been done before,” Gilbert starts slowly. “But it’s less about trying to fill the shoes of someone like Colin Firth, and more about trying to tap in to part of the character that maybe hasn’t had a chance to shine as much on screen yet. I think if you approach it from that angle, there’s no reason why you can’t put your own stamp on a character— _even_ one that’s been brought to life on the big screen before.” 

“That’s a good way to look at it,” she comments through a smile. 

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Jane Austen’s love stories are timeless,” he adds through a grin.

“ _Of course_ ,” Anne agrees, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading across her face because _this_ is the Gilbert she’s always known. The one who’s unafraid to engage in a little good-natured banter. The one who’s always humored all of her questions. The one who still, even after all this time, offers up thoughtful, honest, detailed responses. 

And Anne can’t help but compare the two different versions of Gilbert in her mind. To pit the boy beside her up against the one she saw just yesterday walking the press line, or fielding questions from a room full of eager journalists. Gilbert Blythe, the Academy Award nominee, who so effortlessly charmed everyone he met while working, but nevertheless carried himself as though he was walking around inside a glass box. 

She’s still not sure if she’s shattered the glass casing around him or if Gilbert’s willingly brought his own walls down, but Anne’s grateful either way. And maybe that’s why she asks the question she does next. The one he danced around, for whatever reason, just the day before at the junket. Because she’s _curious_ ; though, if Anne were being honest with herself, she’s searching for an answer to selfishly satisfy her own need to know, and not necessarily for the sake of her assignment.

“Hey, Gil?”

“Hmm?”

“ _Did_ you draw inspiration from anywhere in particular for your interpretation?”

She asks the question point-blank, and can practically see the moment Gilbert hesitates when he hears it. She wonders if maybe her question has brought on thoughts of Winifred, if perhaps that’s why he’s hesitant to tell the truth, because he’s just trying to keep the details of his personal life...well... _personal_. But Anne tries her best not to look as disappointed as she feels while bracing for what she’s sure is bound to be an unsatisfying answer that once again skirts around the truth.

“I was just curious…” Anne continues carefully. “And thinking I might ask again since we didn’t really get down to the root of the answer when that guy from Variety asked back at the junket.”

“Oh…well…I don’t know,” he says lightly. “Not really, I guess.”

If his noncommittal response hadn’t raised enough red flags, the hand reaching up to run through his hair would have been enough to tip Anne off that there was probably more to the answer than Gilbert would have led her to believe. She drops it for now though and instead steers them back to safer waters.

Anne continues her casual interrogation while they peruse around the shop. By the time they’re ready to head out, Gilbert’s got a decent stack of vintage children’s books tucked under one arm to send over to Delly. He politely asks the cashier if it’s possible to have the books shipped, and when the older gentleman behind the register says no, Anne finds herself offering to ship them out on his behalf back at the newsroom. 

She motions for Gilbert to move away from the small counter where the register sits when she spies a woman who looks to be just a bit younger than Marilla hovering nearby. When Gilbert follows Anne’s line of sight and realizes what’s prompted her to nudge him to the side, he makes eye contact with the stranger and offers her a kind smile.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you— you both looked so darling browsing around the store,” the woman says, taking Gilbert’s smile as a sign that it’s safe to approach. “It’s just that my daughter is such a huge fan— if you don’t mind, do you think you could maybe…?”

She trails her sentence off, holding up a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , and Anne tries her hardest not to giggle when she sees Gilbert’s jaw clench as he takes in the cover— a special movie tie-in edition of the book with his face plastered across the front.

“Of course!” Gilbert says kindly, taking the book from the woman’s hands.

She fumbles through her purse for a pen and shoots Anne a grateful smile when she proffers one from her coat pocket for Gilbert to use.

“We’re so excited for the film,” the woman says. “I can’t wrap my head around most of the things my Katie loves— but this is something we can both enjoy together.”

“Thanks so much for saying that,” Gilbert says, glancing up at her briefly from where he’s personalizing the book. “It really means a lot. I hope you enjoy the movie when it comes out.”

“I’m sure we will,” the woman says, looking a tad bit flustered at Gilbert’s expense. “Enjoy your day in the city!”

“We will!” Gilbert says, handing the book back before he guides Anne toward the door with one hand at the small of her back. 

She takes the arm he holds out for her as soon as they’re outside before she turns them back in the direction of the newsroom.

“She was nice,” Anne offers up after a moment.

“Most of them are,” Gilbert says. “Some of them aren’t— but it’s a small minority. Moms can be a bit scary, but she was very nice.”

“More so than the dads of teenage Medics around the world?” Anne laughs.

“I’ve never known fury like that of a mother whose kid didn’t get into a meet and greet,” Gilbert says, shuddering dramatically.

They spend the rest of their walk back swapping war stories, with Gilbert telling Anne about crazy fan encounters, and Anne regaling Gilbert in turn about some of the rather intense behavior she’s seen at the events she’s covered in the past. They pause just outside of the building where the newsroom is located so Anne can stop the recording device. 

“I practically forgot that thing was rolling,” Gilbert says as Anne steps close so she can remove the lapel mic from his scarf.

“Kind of the point,” She says through a knowing grin. “Thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to— I know it can’t have been easy.”

“I’d do anything for you, Anne,” Gilbert says meaningfully. “You have to know that by now.”

“Even after all this time, huh?” She means to keep her tone light, but her voice betrays the affect Gilbert’s declaration has on her.

“Always,” he says, catching her hand in one of his before she can step back.

And suddenly she’s caught again in his hazel eyes, trapped again in that place where it seems as though time stands still for the both of them as Gilbert holds her gaze with his steady one. It takes all of the strength she has left to step back, but she keeps her hand safely tucked in his warm grasp.

“I know it might seem silly to ask— especially since you were just forced to spend an hour in my company…” Gilbert starts. “But would you maybe want to get a drink later? It’d be nice to catch up properly, and not under the guise of work.”

Anne hesitates, her mind working overtime to convince her that as much as she’d like to accept the invitation, agreeing would likely be a terrible idea. 

“Please say yes…” Gilbert says after a moment, as though he’s heard all of the thoughts that Anne’s not speaking aloud. “It’s just a drink with an old friend.”

She’s not sure if it’s the hopeful tone in Gilbert’s voice, the soft look in his eyes, or a deadly combination of the two. Either way, any excuses she’d been preparing to dish out die in her throat, and instead, she hears herself agreeing to meet up with him later. The broad smile that spreads across Gilbert’s handsome face at her answer is more than enough of a reward as far as Anne’s concerned in the heat of the moment.

“Is after nine too late for you?” He asks. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get away before then.”

“After nine is fine,” Anne says. “And, if you didn’t already have a place in mind…I think I know a place where you can fly below the radar, superstar,” she jokes as an afterthought. “If you don’t mind a dive bar.”

“I love a good dive bar,” Gilbert chuckles.

They finish exchanging numbers, with Anne promising to text him the address just as a black SUV with tinted windows pulls up behind them.

One of the back windows rolls down and Josie sticks her head out. “Oh, great! You’ve saved me the trouble of going inside— did everything work out alright? Did you get everything you needed, Anne?”

“Yup!” Anne confirms.

“Quick and painless— not at all like pulling teeth,” Gilbert adds, borrowing a few of her own words from earlier.

This time, it’s Gilbert who sticks his hand out for Anne to shake, and she can’t help but laugh as she takes it in hers, squeezing it tight before letting go. 

She waits until the SUV rounds the corner out of sight before finally heading back upstairs to the newsroom. And then, in the comfort of her office, Anne spends the next few hours pretending that the permanent smile that just won’t seem to leave her face has nothing to do with Gilbert himself, and _everything_ to do with the strong sense of accomplishment that usually comes with knowing she’s just banked a great interview that’s bound to turn into a fantastic story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost an EXTRA special thank you to [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye) for offering to beta this chapter! For catching all of my mistakes, and STILL somehow managing to (gently) push me to dig deeper and reach further in a few pivotal moments. Em, I hope you know how much I adore you, you stupidly talented human! Also...if, for some reason, y'all have been sleeping on their fics do yourselves a favor and RUN, don't walk to read literally anything Em has ever written for this fandom because it's ALL *chef's kiss*
> 
> Chapter 3 is one of my favorites so far. It was so much fun to write for a multitude of reasons, so I really hope you all enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Again, thank you to each and every single one of you who have been so supportive and excited about this story-- it's so motivating and invigorating, and I'm just thrilled beyond words to know you're all just as excited about it as I am.
> 
> Also, thank you in advance to all of you lovely readers who are kind enough to leave kudos and/or comments letting me know what you thought or what you think is coming next-- y'all truly make my day with your kind words!
> 
> As always, in between updates you can come and hang out with me either on [Twitter](xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com</a>Tumblr</a>%20OR%20over%20on%20<a%20href=)\-- hope to see some of you around on the internet! <3


	4. Chapter 4

They meet at a sports bar near Union Square around 9:30 with Anne beating Gilbert there by all of five minutes. He looks handsome and windswept in a way that makes her heart ache in her chest, and she silently wills it to control itself as she greets him with a hug.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “Dinner with the studio execs lasted a bit longer than expected.”

“It’s alright— I wasn’t waiting long out here anyway.”

She gestures for them to go inside and watches as Gilbert takes in the modest decor of the bar, decked out in sports paraphernalia from teams that play thousands of miles away. 

“I promised you a dive, didn’t I?” Anne says cheekily.

“That you did,” Gilbert answers back through a grin. “I love it.”

The place is by no means empty, but true to Anne’s word, no one pays them any mind as they sidle up to the bar to place their orders before taking their drinks to the back where it’s a bit less noisy.

“I can’t believe you gave me so much shit for my black coffee when it turns out  _ your _ drink of choice is a  _ vodka soda! _ ” Gilbert goads.

“Too much sugar mixed with alcohol makes my stomach queasy!” Anne says defensively. “Besides, it feels less counterproductive if I ask the bartender to mix my alcohol with water—  _ even _ if it’s fizzy.”

“How do you suppose that?”

“Well…they’re always telling you to stay hydrated while you’re drinking, aren’t they?” Anne starts slowly. “I figure that at least this way, I’m hydrating along the way.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s very sound logic, sweetheart,” Gilbert says through an impish smile.

“ _ Just _ — just shut up and drink your whiskey, and leave me and my irrational logic alone!” Anne says, pushing his glass toward him.

Gilbert merely chuckles, picks up his drink, and tips his glass to hers, clinking both together before he takes a long sip of his beverage. 

On the subway ride over to the bar, Anne had been wondering what Gilbert’s drink of choice might be. Because much like she always had, she couldn’t help the way her curiosity often got the better of her when it came to Gilbert Blythe. 

She couldn’t help  _ but  _ want to know  _ everything _ about him— even the more mundane details, like which alcoholic beverage he likes to decompress with after a long day’s work. She’d envisioned something fancier than the dive they were in might regularly stock; something trendy and top shelf with a fancy label that probably didn’t taste much different than a cheaper alternative. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been all that surprised when he’d assured the surly bartender that whatever they had on hand for whiskey was just fine. If their brief encounters over the course of the past few days had taught Anne anything, it was that for as much as she’d been expecting to pinpoint all of the ways Hollywood and stardom had changed him, the truth of the matter was that life in the limelight had done nothing of the sort.

And the more they talk over rounds of vodka sodas and whiskey neats, the more Anne starts to realize that despite all of the glitz and glamour, Gilbert was still just  _ her _ Gilbert.

The same Gilbert, who’d marched right up to Billy Andrews and punched him square in the face for daring to make fun of Anne's freckles when they were much younger. 

The same Gilbert, who'd brought her an apple every day in the fall of their thirteenth year-- even after she'd whacked him over the head with a rather sturdy binder—  _ even _ after she’d only taken the first few he’d offered her just so she could lob them back at him when he turned around to leave.

The same Gilbert who came to the hospital every afternoon to bring Anne her homework when they were seventeen and Matthew had suffered his first stroke-- sticking around late into the evening under the guise of helping Anne study, neither of them acknowledging the fact that they both knew Anne didn’t need the extra tutoring.

The same Gilbert who, at the age of twenty-five, and despite likely having gone through hours and hours of media training, _ still  _ had a tendency to run his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck whenever he got nervous or embarrassed.

He was still just the same Gilbert that Anne had been quietly loving from afar for as long as she could remember, and the knowledge of this proved to be a discovery that was both terrible and wonderful all at once. 

Wonderful, because it was nice to see that he’d stayed down to earth despite the fame and stardom— despite being touted as the internet’s newest unproblematic boyfriend. And terrible for Anne, specifically, because it meant that it was becoming harder and harder for her to deny the way her feelings for him seemed to be multiplying by the second.

“This is the shortest I’ve seen your hair in a while,” Anne says sometime after their third round of drinks, the alcohol emboldening her to reach out and run her fingers through the side of Gilbert’s curls.

“It’s by design— keeping it longer when I can,” he confesses through a lazy smile. “I’m still traumatized by that buzzcut I sported back in eighth grade.”

“Oh my  _ god _ ! I forgot about that!” Anne exclaims through a giggle as she recalls Gilbert’s disastrous haircut. “I’m  _ still  _ convinced that whoever cut your hair had it out for you— why else would they have gone so short and  _ patchy _ ?”

“Actually…” he starts slowly. “I never told anyone this but…well…I did it to myself.”

“Well  _ that  _ was a stupid thing to do,” Anne guffaws. “You have such nice hair! Why on earth would you do that to  _ yourself _ ?”

“Thank you,” Gilbert says, taking the compliment through a slight flush. “As for the  _ why _ …well…I sort of did it on a whim— right after you had that unfortunate mishap with the hair dye, and then Marilla made you chop all your hair off.”

Anne’s jaw drops in shock over Gilbert’s confession. She gapes at him, momentarily speechless before she chokes out a strangled response.

“ _ Why _ ?”

“Because Billy and his friends wouldn’t stop teasing you, and then neither would the rest of the school. So I thought maybe if  _ I  _ showed up with a bad haircut, it might take some of the heat off of you,” Gilbert rushes out, ears burning a furious shade of red that only makes Anne adore him all the more. “I’ll be the first to admit that it wasn’t my best idea, but give me a break! I was 13, and  _ stupid _ , and also maybe a little bit obsessed with you— and I had  _ no _ clue how to get you to even look my way half the time!"

Anne sits there gobsmacked, staring at him, mulling over the words he’d just casually blurted out, positively stunned in particular over the part about how he’d clearly thought she’d hated him back then— all the more hilariously ironic given the truth. Which was that the reason for her prickly behavior had nothing to do with hating Gilbert, and everything to do with the fact that she’d also been young, and stupid, and maybe a little bit obsessed with him with no clue what to do about it.

She purses her lips in an attempt to pull back the silly grin threatening to spread across her face over the giddy realization that she had, at one point, unknowingly had the power to leave Gilbert feeling so desperately unhinged.

“Obsessed, huh?” she says finally. “Probably only because I wouldn’t let you teased me like you teased all the other girls…”

Gilbert says nothing, choosing instead to smile into his drink as he takes another long sip.

“Still though,” she continues. “Giving yourself a buzzcut? You’re such an idiot.”

“I believe I’m what the kids these days would refer to as ‘pure of heart and dumb of ass,’— although I think they’re usually using that phrase to describe a character I’m playing,” Gilbert says, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers.

“For what it’s worth… ‘pure of heart and dumb of ass’? That’s arguably an incredibly endearing quality,” Anne offers up.

Gilbert stares at her for a moment, something of a fond smile dancing around in his eyes and across his mouth. Anne props her head on one arm and stares back, letting herself look her fill for far longer than she might have without the liquid courage the vodka’s currently affording her.

“You’ve always had my back though, haven’t you?” She says after a moment, voice tinged in wonderment. “ _ Even _ in my worst times-- _even_ while I was being so horrible to you.  _ God _ , I smacked you over the head with my binder almost right after we  _ met _ for the first time at school. Do you remember?"

“How could I ever forget? At least now I can say I’ve gotten stitches,” Gilbert laughs. “You can still feel the scar where the corner of your binder clipped me—  _ right here… _ ” he takes her hand and drags her fingers over to a spot on his head where Anne can feel a small raised line across his scalp. 

Anne pulls her hand back and buries her face in her palms, grumbling about how she can’t believe Gilbert was _ still  _ so nice to her— even after she’d sent him to the emergency room.

“To be fair…I  _ did  _ call you Carrots _ and  _ tug on your pigtails,” Gilbert reasons. “One might say I had it coming.”

Anne laughs because justifying her temper, and the subsequent bodily harm going head to head with it had earned him, was just such a Gilbert Blythe thing to do.

“Come to think of it, didn’t you _ just _ call me Carrots and pull my hair two days ago?” Anne replies. “Bold of you to try again— especially after the first time lead to such disastrous consequences.”

“I wish I could say I did it in a moment of sheer and utter bravery…” Gilbert says, taking another sip of whiskey.

“So a moment of sheer and utter foolishness then…?” she offers up.

“You would _ think _ …” he trails off. “To be honest…seeing you there? I think I just…had to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“That you were  _ real _ — that you were  _ there _ …that you weren’t just some…beautiful figment of my imagination.”

“I think maybe if I hadn't known you were going to be there, I might have thought I’d seen a ghost too,” Anne replies after a moment.

“I don’t want to go back to that,” Gilbert says quietly, a tortured pain lingering in his gaze and in his voice that pierces Anne straight through the heart. “I don’t want to be a ghost in your life…I don’t want  _ you _ to be a ghost in mine.”

“How about instead of haunting each other we try that friendship thing again?” Anne says gently.

“We always  _ did _ make a pretty good  _ T-E-A-M,”  _ he grins. “At least we did back then.”

“Who’s to say we still won’t?” she smiles back. “So what do you say, Gil? Could you use another friend? Because I’d very much like to be yours— I’ve been told I’m a pretty good one. I can even supply references upon request.”

He laughs, casting his eyes down toward his empty glass, and the sound lights up her insides like an impressive fireworks display. 

Over the course of the night, they’ve slowly been doing away with the distance between them, as though every new round of drinks had also come with some unspoken rule that required them to draw nearer to each other. From this close, she can count the light dusting of freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. And for the first time, she can also see the hints of dark circles beginning to form under his thick lower lash line.

Anne’s in the middle of wondering about when Gilbert had last been able to get in a proper night’s sleep when he finally speaks again. 

“No references needed,” he says through half-lidded eyes. “As long as it means I get to keep you close, I’m happy to have you as a friend.”

“Good,” Anne breathes. “In that case, my first order as your friend will be to insist on closing out our tabs so you can go and get some sleep— you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“It’s mostly the whiskey,” Gilbert objects. “I’ve survived on less sleep.”

“Well you won’t, not on my watch if I can help it,” Anne says. 

She stands and when he doesn’t follow her, she gives his arm a tug. Gilbert makes a show of resisting but only for a moment before he follows her out to the front so they can settle out. 

They spend a moment bickering by the bar when Gilbert insists on trying to pay for Anne’s drinks before an older woman interjects.

“Oh lay off it, Red— and let the nice boy pay!” She says loudly in a thick accent.

“Yeah!  _ Let the nice boy pay _ ,” Gilbert says as he smoothly slips his card to the bartender.

Anne has no choice but to concede, although she considers it a small victory when she stops him from adding in a tip to the transaction. Instead, she covers the gratuity herself by throwing a few bills on the bar.

“You sure I can’t get you to reconsider accepting a ride home?” Gilbert asks as they wait outside for his chauffeur to show up.

“I appreciate the offer, but you’d be backtracking— I’m heading uptown,” she says. “Plus, the subway’s just across the street. I’m a big girl— I can take care of myself.”

“So you’ve told me—  _ many times _ ,” he replies. “You do know though, don’t you? That there’s no shame in asking for help every once in a while?”

Anne’s spared from answering when a sleek black car pulls up to the sidewalk and stops just up ahead of them. 

“Look at me walking you to your car like a proper gentleman,” she jokes as she follows him right up to the door. “D’you have any dragons you need me to slay while I’m at it?”

“Not currently— but I might take you up on that offer in the future,” Gilbert laughs. “I’m glad we did this— I’m glad you said  _ yes _ .”

“Me too,” Anne says smiling back.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime…?” He asks hopefully.

“I think I’d like that,” she says in return. "So what's next for you?"

"A 5 a.m. flight to London for more press," he grimaces. 

"Oh, come on! Us members of the press, we're not  _ all _ that bad!" Anne says. 

"No, you're not," he grins. "There's one in particular actually…who’s pretty great." 

"Maybe next time we meet up you can tell me all about what makes them so great," she quips back.

"I dunno-- it might take all night," he says, a soft smile beginning to form on his face. “Do you have that kind of time to spare?"

“I’m sure I could pencil you in,” she says playfully.

“It’s a date then,” Gilbert adds before he steps forward and pulls her in for a hug.

They part ways with Anne wishing him a safe flight and smooth sailing on the rest of his press tour.

  
  
  
  


Anne’s not expecting it when she gets a text from Gilbert out of the blue three days later while typing away furiously at the office.

**Gilbert:** Delly says thank you so much for making sure the books got to her safe— she loves them!

He’s attached an adorable photo of his niece with her nose in one of the books she remembers helping Gilbert pick out for her at Housing Works. The Cuthberts had always been close with the Blythe-Lacroix’s— it was hard not to be given that they were neighbors. And while Anne had watched little Delphine grow over the course of her last year of high school, and then periodically during her visits home from university, it had been a few years since she’d last seen her, or Gilbert’s brother, Bash. At nearly eight, Delly was looking far less like the toddler that Anne remembered from her previous run-in with the Lacroixs, and much more like the big kid she was. 

**Anne:** She’s so big now! And looking more and more like Mary every day.

She feels herself getting teary as soon as she types out Mary’s name. The sudden loss of Mary Lacroix had hit the whole town hard, but Anne had always admired the way Bash had carried on with a sort of strength Anne could never fathom having to muster up herself.

**Gilbert:** I tell Bash every day he should count his lucky stars that Delly got all of Mary’s good looks. The alternative is that she would have come out looking like him!

**Anne:** You’re terrible! Bash is a very handsome man! 

**Gilbert:** What? And he’s a total saint? He’s just as bad as me— if not worse— when it comes to the teasing! 

**Gilbert:** (Also I’m going to pretend you didn’t just compliment Bash’s good looks— PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. He probably won’t be able to fit through the front door I his confidence grows any bigger)

**Anne:** Hahaha! Is that how Bash justifies teasing you all the time? By saying that everyone fawning over your good looks is bound to be bad for the size of your ego? 

**Gilbert:** You think I have good looks?

**Anne:** You don’t need my validation— you get plenty of that without my opinion thrown into the mix.

**Anne:** How’s London?

**Gilbert:** Cloudy.

**Gilbert:** And wet. But it’s stopped raining…for now.

He shoots her another photo— this time a view from a window that looks out onto the skyline of the city.

**Gilbert:** How’s New York?

**Anne:** Cold, but not as cloudy.

Not to be outdone, she snaps a quick picture of the view from her own window and sends that as well.

**Gilbert:** Loved an image 

**Gilbert:** Looks nice out there! Gotta get back to work— talk soon!

He texts her again the next day, this time a simple image of a brick house that almost makes Anne spit out her coffee.

**Anne:** OH MY GOD YOU’RE AT THE JANE 

**Anne:** AUSTEN HOUSE

**Anne:** IN CHAWTON

**Gilbert:** YES. I was hoping you’d recognize it

**Anne:** YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL. WHY ARE YOU AT THE JANE AUSTEN HOUSE

**Gilbert:** I don’t think I’ve ever seen you type in all caps before. I take it you’re very excited I shared this with you?

**Anne:** WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THE AUSTEN HOUSE. GILBERT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE. PLEASE. I NEED TO KNOW.

**Gilbert:** is this how you get everyone else in Hollywood to tell you all their secrets?

  
  


She laughs to herself as her eyes read over his last text message. Gilbert is thousands of miles away, but he might as well be standing right there next her in her office with the way Anne can practically hear his voice saying the words he’d typed out. She knows the exact tone he’d adopt, knows all of the places he’d inflect and modulate over the course of the simple sentence, because even after all the time they’d spent apart, there’s no denying that Anne  _ still  _ knows him. 

  
  


**Anne:** Ha ha. Very funny. But seriously though, what are you doing there?

**Gilbert:** We’re here with Vanity Fair for a photo shoot— but keep that to yourself please. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say.

**Anne:** That’s so cool! I’m so jealous! I’ve always wanted to go there! 

**Gilbert:** I can’t believe that the biggest Austen fan I know hasn’t made the pilgrimage yet.

**Anne:** Cute how you think I have time for vacations in my line of work— or that I can afford a Eurotrip on a writer’s salary.

**Gilbert:** Well, I guess I know what to get you for Christmas then…

**Anne:** DON’T YOU DARE. 

**Anne:** But you *can* let me live vicariously through you by sending me pictures from your visit!

**Gilbert:** DONE. Stand by— will send more pics as they show us more of the house! <3

**Anne:** ALSKDJFHG. THANKS GIL. YOU’RE A GOOD FRIEND.

  
  


Their texts come more frequently after their first two exchanges, as though Gilbert reaching out was all that was needed to break the ice. The giddy thrill Anne gets when she hears her phone chime and looks down only to see Gilbert’s name pop up on her screen does not fade no matter how often an alert comes through...

  
  


**Gilbert:** I’m so tired I thought I was making coffee, but I forgot to put any actual coffee into the filter before turning the machine on. FAIL.

**Anne:** I know the feeling. Someone at the office forgot to order more coffee the other week, and all we had was decaf. DECAF. Can you believe it?

**Gilbert:** Decaf is for quitters. Death to decaf. That’s blasphemous.

**Anne:** EXACTLY. Glad to know you’re on the right side of this matter!

  
  


**Anne:** Look what came for me at the office today— an entire P&P press kit from the studio

She shoots over a picture of a box packed to the brim with a variety of objects including a variety of posters, a shirt, a hat, two tea cups with matching saucers, a tin of tea, and some commemorative postcards.

**Anne:** Now I can plaster my office with objects featuring your brooding Darcy face.

**Gilbert:** you wouldn’t.

**Anne:** I dunno. I won’t be in this office for much longer, but I’m sure whoever gets it next won’t mind if I do a little redecorating before I leave.

**Gilbert:** Remind me to send a sympathy card to the poor unfortunate soul who gets saddled with the space after you. Especially if that’s what you’re planning to do with it.

**Anne:** you really don’t like merchandise with your face plastered on it do you?

**Gilbert:** Would you?

**Anne:** Probably not— but it’s fun to see you squirm over it!

  
  


**Gilbert:** Heading over to Japan for the Tokyo premiere— we have a day off in between and Josie’s letting us go to the Studio Ghibli museum

**Anne:** OMG. FUN!! Do you remember that weekend you had to come stay with us because your dad was on a work trip? The one where Marilla was down for the count with pneumonia?

**Gilbert:** And Matthew said we could stay up and watch one more movie after he decided he wanted to go to bed? 

**Anne:** YES. But then we ended up marathoning all the Studio Ghibli films in chronological order? Marilla was SO MAD!

**Gilbert:** Worth it though!

**Anne:** DEFINITELY WORTH IT.

**Gilbert:** You won’t be mad if I pick up something for you at the gift shop will you? 

**Gilbert:** You know….for nostalgia’s sake. To commemorate that treasured childhood memory of ours

  
  


Her heart flutters away wildly in her chest over the thought of Gilbert picking up a gift for her— of Gilbert taking the time to browse through any shop, eyes carefully scanning each and every item until they land on something that reminds him of her, and all while he’s halfway around the world. Somehow, Anne manages to reel her brain in from where it’s off romanticizing the notion of a gift from Gilbert for long enough to text him back.

  
  


**Anne:** I’ll let you pick something out for me while you’re there— as long as you don’t spend over $20 USD on whatever it is.

**Gilbert:** Annneeeeee. You’re no funnnnnnn!

**Gilbert:** What good is having all of this expendable income if I can’t spend it on my friends and family?

**Anne:** IDK Gil, but those are the rules— take it or leave it.

**Gilbert:** Fine. You got yourself a deal, Cuthbert!

**Anne:** Excellent! 

  
  
  


Anne can’t quite wrap her head around how quickly texting with Gilbert becomes second nature-- just as part of her routine as something like drinking coffee in the morning, or brushing her teeth. She wonders if maybe some part of her should be more worried about the way he’s quickly becoming the first person she wants to contact whenever something good happens at work, or whenever she has a mundane thought she’s itching to share with another human. But at the end of the day, Anne can’t help that she’s a creature of habit, and half the time she’s reached for her phone and shot off a text to Gilbert anyway before she can think better of it. It never takes long for him to respond, and by the time he does, she’s so wrapped up in the idea of getting to talk to him again, it’s impossible to think of anything else.

  
  
  


**Anne:** Just filed my story on you— thought you’d be interested to know it came out to about 2500 words by the time I finished it.

**Gilbert:** Is that a lot?

**Anne:** That’s like…five pages single spaced in Word if that helps you visualize better.

**Gilbert:** So basically you wrote the equivalent of a college essay’s length worth of words about me?

**Anne:** Never thought of it that way, but I guess so!

**Gilbert:** Should I be scared?

**Anne:** I dunno. Do you feel like you should be?

**Gilbert:** No. I trust you to make me look good. 

**Anne:** That’s not usually how this relationship is supposed to go btw…professionally speaking… between you, an actor, and me a reporter

**Anne:** But personally speaking…it’s good to know you trust me. I hope I prove myself worthy of it.

**Gilbert:** You already have, Carrots.

  
  


**Gilbert:** I’m heading back your way

**Gilbert:** To NYC for the P&P premiere. Are you going to that?

**Anne:** No

**Gilbert:** Why? Did they not send you tickets? I can send one over for you

**Anne:** No, they did, don’t worry! But I’ve already seen it. So I gave the tickets to some of the interns here at the office who really wanted to see the movie.

**Anne:** Plus, I’m flying back to LA the morning of, so I wouldn’t have even been in town anyway.

**Gilbert:** Oh. That’s too bad. I was hoping to see you there. And Winnie has been dying to meet you— properly, that is.

  
  


Anne’s heart gives an awful lurch at the mention of Winifred Rose. She’d forgotten all about Gilbert’s stunning, well-beloved co-star, and how she must have been right there next to Gilbert for all of the stops on their press tour. Taking in everything from the foggy London skies, to the bustling streets of Tokyo— enjoying quiet moments during flights, or sharing secret smiles in between interviews. Perhaps, even helping Gilbert pick out that gift he’d mentioned wanting to pick up for her at the Ghibli museum gift shop.

It was so easy to get swept up in the idea of Gilbert in any way, shape, or form— friend, neighbor, academic rival, the object of her affection…to let the idea of whatever role he filled in her life take over in a way that caused everyone and everything else to melt away. 

Suddenly, Anne hates herself a little bit for subconsciously allowing herself to slip back into the realm of possibility— the one where she dangerously entertains the fleeting notion that there might be some small chance that Gilbert  _ could _ perhaps feel something more for her other than friendship. 

It’s foolish for a multitude of reasons— his suspected romantic involvement with  _ Winnie _ merely being one thing in a long list of reasons why she knows she shouldn’t be venturing down such a treacherous road. A road, she realizes, she can’t bring herself to turn back from either way. Because she’s in too deep, and now that Gilbert’s back in her life, lighting it up with his blinding brilliance, Anne can’t imagine going back to living her life without having him in it.

  
  


**Anne:** Sorry! But I’m sure you won’t even have time to miss me with Winnie there to entertain you. I imagine you’ll be super busy all night. 

**Gilbert:** She is, in fact, very good at keeping me entertained. 

**Gilbert:** I fly in the evening before. Maybe we can meet that night if you’re free?

  
  


The invitation comes out of left field, and Anne has half a mind to decline, or perhaps fire off something childish she’d likely be embarrassed about later like, ‘are you sure you wouldn’t rather have  _ Winnie _ entertain you on your one free evening instead?’ She doesn’t do either.

  
  


**Anne:** That’s Wednesday night, right?

**Gilbert:** Yes!

**Anne:** Works for me 

**Gilbert:** Same time, same place?

**Anne:** Sounds good— see you then

**Gilbert:** Can’t wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun fact: it's my birthday today! And I can't think of a more fitting day to bestow you all with an update than today-- it's like a present for everyone on a day where people are giving me presents, haha!
> 
> In any case, this chapter was another fun one to write, so I really hope you all have just as much fun reading it as I did working on it! Our two favorite idiots are getting there, slowly but surely, so hopefully you're all still here for the slow build!
> 
> Thanks so much (once again!) to the brilliant [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye) for betaing this chapter and offering up incredibly valuable suggestions and advice! If you've been sleeping on Em's fics, you're seriously missing out-- do yourself a favor and go read them because they're amazing! 
> 
> And thanks to ALL OF YOU for reading and for your support over the course of the past few chapters of this fic! 
> 
> I continue to be completely blown away by all of your lovely comments.This is officially the longest story I've ever taken on-- both in word count and in chapter count-- so I really appreciate all of the support and the kind words! Your comments, no matter how long or short, give me so much life and motivation, so thanks in advance if you're kind enough to leave those and/or kudos!
> 
> Hopefully I'll have more to share with you all soon!
> 
> In the mean time, as always, you can find me either on [Tumblr>](https://xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com/) and/or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE) if you want to chat or come say hi in between updates!


	5. Chapter 5

“Hold on!  _ Hold on! _ ” Anne exclaims as she slams her empty glass down on the table.

They’re back at the dive bar, settled in the same back corner they’d taken over the last time Anne had brought him here. They’re also three very generous rounds in, when Gilbert confesses something that she just can’t wrap her brain around.

“What do you mean you’ve never really  _ been _ to New York City? Aren’t you out here all the time?”

“Yes— but for  _ work _ , Carrots— it doesn’t count!” he laughs. “Kind of like how you texted me the other day about how Sean wants to send you to Atlanta to visit the set of that one show. And _ then _ you went off about how disappointed you were over probably not getting to see much more of the city apart from the airport, the hotel you’ll be staying at, and the set you’ll be covering.”

A new round of drinks materializes before them as if by magic, and Gilbert nods in thanks to the waitress he must have ordered them from while Anne was too busy gaping at him to notice. 

“Ok…that’s fair,” she concedes. “But really? You’ve never really been to New York? Not even before your career took off? You didn’t come out on some boys trip from U of T with your frat buddies? Or on a trip with your dad before—”

Anne cuts herself off before she can finish the sentence. She hadn’t meant to bring up John Blythe, and she can tell Gilbert’s a bit surprised when she does, but he recovers quickly and puts her out of her misery.

“No…dad and I never made it out here either,” he says. “I’m not sure if he ever came on his own before. I never thought to ask.”

“He was so well traveled,” Anne says gently. “I could have listened to him tell us stories about his adventures all day…the way he described people and places— it almost made you feel like you were  _ there _ .”

“You do that, too, you know? With your writing,” Gilbert says. “You paint the picture— you make people come alive. That’s what my dad used to say. He always did love reading your articles in the school newspaper. Never missed a single one.”

“I didn’t know that,” she whispers. “I’m honored he read them all.”

“He’d _ still  _ be reading all your articles if he could,” Gilbert says wistfully. “I don’t think he’d be a bit surprised to find out that you ended up a writer after all. He might be a bit surprised about what life ended up having in store for  _ me _ though."

"But he'd still have been  _ so proud _ of you, Gil….he  _ is _ so proud of you.”

She reaches out to lay a hand over his on the table, and a warm and fuzzy feeling works its way across her entire being beginning at the place where the bottom of her hand meets the top of his. 

She’d meant the gesture to be a comfort for Gilbert, but Anne was quickly realizing just how much comfort that small touch was offering  _ her _ up as well. 

She’d been away from Avonlea for so long— gone such long stretches without seeing the family and friends they’d both grown up with that she’d almost forgotten how nice it was. 

Because it  _ was  _ nice. To sit across from someone who knew so much about you. Who’d known you at your best, and also at your worst, across the various stages of your life. It was nice to sit and talk with someone without having to explain certain things, or give context to anecdotal stories like she usually found herself having to do when out with friends from work, or the guys she’d dated. She’d never have to do that with Gilbert, though, because he’d  _ been there _ for most of the stories that lived on in infamy in her memories. 

And Anne’s suddenly struck by a desire that burns like a furnace within her heart when she realizes she doesn’t  _ just  _ want old memories with Gilbert— she’s desperate for them to make  _ new _ memories too…

When he finally speaks again, his voice tears through the racing thoughts flittering around in her brain.

“Thanks,” Gilbert whispers, slipping his hand out from beneath Anne’s so he can place it on top of hers instead. “You know what he  _ would _ be disappointed in, though?”

“Hmm?” She mumbles breathlessly, too distracted by the way Gilbert’s absentmindedly stroking his thumb across her wrist.

“The fact that I’ve come to this city so many times without actually having  _ seen  _ much of it,” he says through a playful grin, as though proud of himself for bringing the conversation full circle. “That wouldn’t sit well with my dear old dad at all.”

“ _ Well _ …” Anne says, pulling her hand away in an effort to regain some of her composure. “Let’s change that then.”

She picks up her full glass and downs the drink in one go while Gilbert looks on in awe. 

“Come on, drink up— we’ve got places to go and things to see,” she orders, nudging his own glass toward him. Gilbert quirks a single eyebrow up at her questioningly, prompting Anne to continue. “You said you’d never really seen the city, so…let’s go see the city.”

“Right now?” He chuckles. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“Well…lucky for us, we’re in the city that never sleeps,” Anne says matter-of-factly as she stands from the barstool and starts putting her coat on. “So, what do you say, superstar— are you in, or what?”

He stands before he downs the rest of his drink in one go just like Anne had done mere moments ago. “I’m in— where to first?”

“You’ll see…” Anne says, not giving much away as she leads them toward the entrance.

She’s about to protest yet again as Gilbert makes to pay the bartender, but he holds a hand up before she can get a word in. “Think of it as payment for your services as my personal tour guide.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” she grumbles. “But _ I  _ get to pay for anything else that requires money tonight!”

Gilbert laughs heartily when she forces him to pinky swear on it, but obliges nevertheless before they make their way outside.

“Should I call a driver?” He asks.

“No need,” Anne replies as she steers them down the street. “We can just take the subway— it’s late on a Wednesday. It shouldn’t be too packed."

She cashes in on the pinky promise she’d forced Gilbert into as soon as they make it down the stairs and into the subway where she heads straight to a kiosk and buys him a ticket. 

From there, Anne leads him down a long tunnel, tugging on his arm and pulling him along at a quicker pace than the brisk one she’d already set when she realizes that the train she’d been hoping they could catch is already pulling into the station. She can’t help the way she giggles when Gilbert, who’d opted to remain standing, stumbles slightly as the train pulls away from the station with a sudden jolt.

“Probably better if you sit down,” Anne says, standing so she can direct him into the seat she’d been previously occupying. She takes his place, keeping a firm grip on the pole next to him, inconspicuously using her body to shield Gilbert from view of the handful of inquisitive eyes that had lingered in their direction following his stumble.

“I have a feeling Josie will never forgive me if you wind up with any broken limbs right before the big premiere tomorrow.”

They get off four stops away at Grand Central Station, and Anne takes joy in seeing Gilbert’s eyes take in just how expansive the underground terminal is. 

She leads him up to the main concourse. The space, usually bustling with people, is nearly empty given the late hour, and it allows them the luxury to marvel at everything at their leisure without being bothered. They take advantage of the freedom, their eyes feasting on everything from the breathtaking turquoise ceiling with its mural of constellations, to the four-faced brass clock that glows proudly in the center of the space, as though they’ve got all the time in the world. Anne does her best to earn her keep as his personal tour guide by peppering the small handful of facts she remembers from a walking tour she once took through the station as Gilbert looks his fill. 

Once he’s ready to move on, she leads him down toward the whispering gallery by the Oyster Bar, depositing him in one corner of the domed room before she positions herself directly across from him on the opposite side. They find far too much joy in taking advantage of the acoustic oddity that allows sound to travel across the domed space, giggling as they try to one-up each other with hushed renditions of terrible pick-up lines they lob back and forth to each other through the tiled corners. 

“Are we not getting back on the subway?” Gilbert asks as she leads him outside.

“No— we’re close enough to walk to the next place,” Anne says, pausing just outside so Gilbert has time to take in the terminal’s impressive facade, as well as the neighboring Chrysler Building. 

It’s a short jaunt over to the next stop on Anne’s quick tour of the Big Apple, with Gilbert catching on just as they’re coming up to the intended destination.

“Times Square?” He says in surprise. “Didn’t you  _ just _ tell me the other day how you’re never coming here again after you got stuck trying to push your way through an impromptu fashion show?”

“I said I’d never come back here  _ on my own _ — once is enough to be honest,” Anne amends. “But  _ you’ve _ never been, and far be it from  _ me _ to deprive you of the experience. Everyone should come at least once at night…”

She suckers Gilbert into posing for a picture once they get there.

“What for?” He laughs.

“I don’t know! For the memories? For your Instagram? To prove that you can still leave the house or your hotel room without being mobbed?” Anne quips back. “Just stand there and smile.” 

“Josie will be so pleased to know you’ve taken a vested interest in helping me secure more material for my socials,” Gilbert says through gritted teeth as he holds a purposefully forced smile. “How do I look?”

“Terrified— like I’m holding you hostage,” Anne laughs as she turns her phone screen around to show him the picture she’s just snapped. 

“So true to form then,” he jokes back, which earns him a slap to the shoulder from Anne. “Alright, come on, get in here— if I’m being forced to take a photo, then so are you.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to these terms…” Anne starts. The threat of a discourse proves futile when she slips in next to him and hands her phone over. “You’ve got longer arms…”

Gilbert says nothing, but it’s hard to miss the wide, amused grin that plasters itself onto his face over the realization that it hadn’t taken much more convincing on his part to get Anne to agree.

After, they stand shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the bright lights and flashing billboards for a moment, with Anne trying to stifle a giggle over the way Gilbert squints up at the display before them.

“It’s  _ so bright _ ,” he says finally. “I mean, I always figured…but it’s different when you’re here staring up at it…”

“The first time I ever visited was when Diana and I came out to see Cole one summer when he was still studying at NYU,” Anne says. “I can’t even remember how we ended up in Times Square at 3 a.m., but they both laughed when I shamelessly whipped out the sunglasses in the middle of the night.”

She shoots him a grin when Gilbert laughs at the image she’s just painted. “But it  _ is  _ kind of amazing isn’t it? That something other than the sun has the ability to shine so bright it’s almost blinding— almost hard to look at…”

“Yeah… _ amazing _ …” he says it with such wonderment, Anne can’t help but look up at him. She flushes when she lifts her gaze only to find Gilbert already staring back down at her. 

“Anyway…” Anne whispers. “I…”

“ _ Yes _ …?” he whispers back.

She clears her throat, averting her gaze before she continues. “I know we didn’t have time to see everything, but I hope it feels like you’ve at least seen some of the bigger stuff now.”

“Just means we’ll have to come back,” he says swiftly.

Gilbert’s words paint a pretty picture across her mind and for a moment, Anne lets herself entertain each and every one of them. Her imagination takes the wheel, filling her head with the thoughts of all the things they could do if they had more time. 

She can see them all so clearly. Conjured up images of strolls across the Highline at sunset...of afternoons spent under the shade and shelter of the trees in Central Park, swapping stories of the years they spent away from each other’s company...of late night conversations sitting across from each other at Anne’s favorite 24-hour diner...of early mornings spent dragging Gilbert to all of her favorite used bookstores, tempting him with the promise of a fantastic cup of coffee she swears she’ll buy him after they go to “just one more shop”...

The possibilities seem endless, and it’s an achingly bittersweet reminder of the fact the clock is running out faster than either of them would like it to.

“Ready to call it a night?” Anne asks, trying to hold back any traces of lament that comes along with knowing that the moment where they’ll inevitably have to say goodbye is drawing near. “I probably shouldn’t keep you out too much later— I feel like I’ve already pushed it way too far.”

He nods, and then, as though learning his lesson from the last time, offers to ride the subway back to the place Anne’s been subletting for the past few months uptown, reasoning that he can just as well get his driver to meet him there instead.

When they beat Gilbert’s chauffeur to Harlem, they end up splitting a large fresh made sandwich that Anne buys for them along with two cups of coffee, from a neighborhood bodega. They sit, huddled together on the stoop of her building, and tuck into their midnight snack while they wait for Gilbert’s driver to show up.

“Oh my god,” he groans next to her. “I can’t tell if this is as good as it tastes, or if I’m just hungrier than I thought I was.”

“Probably a healthy mix of both,” Anne laughs. “You should try their breakfast sandwiches— they’re dangerously delicious.”

Gilbert’s just returning from throwing the coffee cups and wrappers away when a sleek black car turns up the street. He waves at the driver, jogging over to say something to him before he heads back toward where Anne’s beginning to stand from her spot on the stoop.

“Hang on,” he says. “I’ll walk you up.”

“What? Are you afraid something’s going to happen to me between now and the ten steps it’ll take for me to get up to the door?” Anne teases.

“You walked me right up to the car door the last time we went out,” Gilbert says, bumping his shoulder into hers as he makes his way up the steps beside her. “I feel like it’s only right if I return the favor.”

“Well,” she says. “You’ve done your due diligence in ensuring I made it home safe and didn’t wind up lying in a ditch somewhere.”

He chuckles, and Anne turns to face him when they both stop on the landing in front of the door.

“So…back to Los Angeles tomorrow?” Gilbert asks.

“Technically today,” Anne laughs. “I have an airport shuttle coming to pick me up in about an hour and a half.”

“Oh god!” He exclaims. “I shouldn’t have ever kept you out so late— I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be— I can’t imagine a better last night in New York City than the one I just had with you.”

“So you don’t think you’ll be coming back any time soon?” 

“Who knows?” She shrugs. “My job is…unpredictable. You’ve kind of just got to be open to going wherever the work is.”

“That’s understandable,” he replies. “Well, you know I’m based out of LA, too— when I’m also not going wherever the work is.”

Anne nods. “I know you are.”

“So…don’t be a stranger, alright?” 

“I won’t,” she promises, taking a step forward so she can loop her arms around Gilbert’s neck and pull him into a tight embrace. “We’re friends now, right?” she says once her head is tucked against his shoulder. “That’s not going to change just because I’ll be on a different coast.”

She’s about to pull back when she feels Gilbert’s arms come up to wrap around her. He pulls her close, pressing their bodies together until there’s no space left between them. 

“Right…” Gilbert says through a gravelly whisper. “ _ Friends _ …”

She can feel the heat of his breath fan against the shell of her ear when he says it, and suddenly it’s as if the unexpected sensation has triggered a shift in the atmosphere around them. It morphs from a warm goodbye between friends into something electric that makes her breath hitch as it steals the air straight out of her lungs. 

She hopes Gilbert will chalk her visceral reaction up to the wind chill whipping through the winter night. Instead, he lets out a shuddering breath against the crook of her neck as his fingers flex, digging into the soft flesh of her back. A non-verbal indicator that lets Anne know that whatever it is she’s feeling, they’re feeling it  _ together. _

Her fingers find their way into the short curls at the back of his head of their own volition, and her heart beats wildly away in her chest when she feels one of his hands gradually slip down the column of her spine until it settles at the small of her back. And when Gilbert lifts his head, nose grazing against the side of her face as he shifts so he can press his forehead against her own, Anne finds herself pleading to every god she can think of— willing them to give her the strength she needs to pull away. They don’t answer, and she’s not even sure she’d be able to pull back even if they had— not when it feels as if gravity’s got her in its clutches…pulling her under…drawing her near…urging her to give up…give in…and let herself fall.

“ _ Anne _ …” the torture laced around the edges of Gilbert’s voice as he draws out her name makes her stomach clench in anticipation.

“ _ Gilbert _ …” she starts, hoping it doesn’t sound as wrecked to his ears as it does to her own. “Gilbert, I—“

Whatever words she’d been about to say die in her throat when a loud chime sounds from deep within her coat pocket. Anne startles, and Gilbert steps back, running a hand through the very hair Anne herself had just had her fingers buried in seconds before. She shoves one shaky hand into her pocket, fumbling for a moment before she finally pulls out the source of the noise.

“Flight alert,” she mumbles, glancing down at her glowing phone screen before darting her eyes up to meet his. “Still set to depart at 5:15 a.m.”

“Good,” Gilbert replies, sucking in a breath before exhaling deeply. “That’s…um…that’s good— will you text me when you land?”

“Sure,” Anne whispers. “I, um…I hope you and Winnie….I hope you  _ both _ have a good premiere.”

She freezes when he leans in, unsure of what to expect, and it takes all of the effort Anne has left within her to keep her knees from buckling when she feels Gilbert brush his lips against her forehead. "Thanks," he whispers. "Have a safe flight, Anne-girl.”

He doesn't wait for her to say anything else before he bounds down the stairs and into the waiting SUV that's been idling in front of her building for far too long. And Anne stays stunned and frozen on the spot until the sleek black car carries Gilbert away, disappearing so quickly into the night, it leaves Anne wondering if the ghost of Gilbert’s lips, still burning like a hot brand against her skin are rooted in reality, or if she’d just imagined the part where he’d been bold enough to press a parting kiss to her forehead.

Anne walks through the small studio she’s called home for the past few months in a haze, hastily moving her suitcase and backpack closer to the front door before she lies down on the couch, hoping to doze for a bit before the shuttle comes to take her to JFK.

Her efforts to rest up prove futile. Firstly because it seems as though there’s nothing in the world that can stop the cogs from turning in her mind. And second because whenever her eyes  _ do _ close, she’s haunted by visions of dark curls, gentle smiles, and heated gazes of swirling hazel.

She gives up eventually, and draws a bath, sinking down into the scalding hot water and staying in it until it turns south of tepid. In the end, it seems as though the only silver lining to staying up all night is that once she’s aboard the plane and settled in the window seat, Anne ends up sleeping through most of the flight for the first time in her life. 

She wakes bleary-eyed and exhausted on the other side of the country when the passenger sitting in front of her lifts the window shade, subsequently flooding her face with harsh sunlight. 

Anne rubs the sleep out from her eyes, stretching as much as she can in the small space economy provides. Her gaze accidentally falls on two flight attendants while her eyes absentmindedly scan the cabin. They seem to be whispering seriously to each other while looking right at her.

_ No, _ Anne thinks to herself.  _ That can’t be right. I’m probably just imagining it… _

She chalks up the self-consciousness to her sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on her, as she half listens to an announcement made over the plane intercom asking passengers to please remain seated until told otherwise. Her previous paranoia, however, is proved justified when one of the two attendants walks swiftly down the aisle and stops directly in front of her row.

“Are you Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?” the flight attendant asks.

“Yes…?”

“Could you please collect your personal items and follow me? We’re going to let you disembark first.”

Anne shoots an apologetic look at the couple she’d been sharing a row with as she waits for them to stand so she can scoot out, lugging her backpack behind her. 

She stays close behind the flight attendant, avoiding the curious looks she garners from the other passengers as she passes them on her way up toward the front of the plane. Once she gets there, the man gestures for her to take a seat in one of the empty first class chairs while they wait for the plane to finish docking at the gate.

“Sorry,” Anne starts. “But can I ask what this is all about? I don’t understand…”

“We’re just going to let you off first, like I said,” says the same flight attendant from before.

“But  _ why _ ?” she blurts out. “I’m more than happy to wait.”

“You’re not in trouble, dear,” says the man’s female counterpart. “It’s just a security precaution. We have a guard waiting for you right at the gate, they’ll have more information for you, and we’ll make sure you get your checked bag before you leave the airport.”

Anne nods, trying her best not to seem rude as she slumps dissatisfied into her temporary seat. The morbid curiosity of her unanswered questions plague her, fueled by the flight attendants hovering nearby who either don’t have more information to feed her, or just aren’t willing to explain further. 

The minor annoyance at being kept out of the loop soon boils over into irritation. Anne’s too exhausted to bother with attempting to keep a scowl from arranging itself across her face as she trains her eyes firmly on the screen in front of her seat. She watches absentmindedly as the image shuffles between showing a five day weather forecast for Los Angeles, and a map that tracks the plane’s progression. 

It’s not until she flicks her gaze back to the flight attendants, and notes how they’re still talking seriously among themselves, that Anne feels her irritation melt and mold until it settles into a thick pool of dread that drops like a lead weight in her stomach. 

For the first time since she’d been escorted up to the front of the plane, she starts to fret over whether or not she’s in some sort of serious trouble. 

Had she done something wrong? Did she accidentally travel with a contraband item? Was the airline gearing up to arrest her because she’d inadvertently broken some massive rule? 

Her brain shuffles through so many anxiety-inducing  _ what-if? _ situations, it leaves Anne feeling dizzy as her heart beats away wildly in her chest. She focuses on her breathing, willing her lungs to expand, and holds the air in before slowly letting it back out, and repeating the cycle again. It doesn’t necessarily erase the dread, but Anne considers it a win when her heart stops feeling as though it’s about to burst right out of her chest.

When the door to the plane finally opens, they usher her out and into the care of not one, but  _ two _ large airport security guards. The guard closest to her offers to take her backpack, which she politely declines.

“Suit yourself,” says the other before going on to explain that he’ll be walking in front of her while his partner will be tailing behind. “There’s nothing to be worried about, Miss— you’re not in any trouble. It’s just—“

“A  _ security precaution. _ Yes…so I’ve been told.” Anne says shakily. “But the longer I go without specific details, the more I’m starting to think that I really  _ am _ in trouble, and you all just aren’t telling me.…”

“We just have orders to escort you to a safe room where you can take a call, Miss,” says the guard behind her. “But we can promise you you aren’t in any trouble. So if you’re ready to go…?”

“Lead the way,” she sighs.

She does as they say and walks between them, past the terminal her plane had just arrived in, following as they veer to the left and lead her through an unassuming set of grey double doors— the kind that Anne surely would have just walked past without paying much attention to on any other given day at LAX.

From there, they lead her down a nondescript hallway with harsh fluorescent lighting, their shoes clacking against the linoleum tiling the only sound echoing across the space. Anne feels her shoulders relax a bit when they exit out yet another set of heavy double doors and find themselves back in the main terminal. This part of the airport isn’t as bustling as the wing she’d arrived in, but it’s strangely comforting to see she hadn’t actually been led to some sort of holding cell, which, as far as Anne’s concerned, was still an option that was on the table from the get-go. 

She breathes even easier when they lead her into a modestly sized room that looks more or less like an office, with a desk and a chair for working, and a small sofa pushed up against the far wall next to a large houseplant. 

“Definitely  _ not _ a holding cell, then…” she mumbles to herself, catching sight of the suitcase she’d checked back at JFK already waiting for her inside the room.

“Line 2, Miss,” says one of the guards, drawing her attention to the telephone on the desk. “They’re already waiting on hold for you— we’ll be just outside whenever you’re ready.”

Anne nods, thanking the guards for their escort before they leave her alone and to her own devices. She waits for the door to close behind them before dropping her backpack, and gingerly taking a seat at the desk. 

She steals herself as she regards the flashing red light blinking back at her next to a button marked with a faded number “2.” 

Too curious to draw out the moment any longer, Anne sucks in a deep breath before picking up the receiver, and pressing the button for the line.

“ _ Hello _ …?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a minute since I posted a new chapter so I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> You'll also likely (maybe?) notice that I finally committed to a final chapter count for this fic. We'll see if I can stick to it as I have a well known history of changing my mind, creating more work for myself, and writing more than I ever thought I would. 😂
> 
> As it stands, this fic is officially the longest one I've ever written. It's also the first time I've ventured out past 3 chapters. I'm still nervous about taking on a story that's longer than my usual stuff, but all of you who are reading, and offering continued support through kudos and comments keep me going-- even when I'm doubting myself, so thank you so much for leaving those!
> 
> We're officially LA bound now, so I hope you're looking forward to that!
> 
> Thanks (as always) to the amazing [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye/pseuds/The_lazy_eye) for beta-ing this chapter and just being an all around lovely human/a total gem!
> 
> In between updates, you can find me either on [Tumblr](https://xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com/) or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my pals at The Storybook Club (you know who you are) for letting me go on for literal weeks about how much of a pain this chapter was to write!
> 
> Y’all are gems, and this one’s for you! <3

“ _Hello...?_ ”

“Oh thank _god_! I was hoping I’d be able to catch you before you left LAX!”

“Josie…?” 

“Yes! Sorry! It’s me. Are you alright?” the other girl asks worriedly.

“I’m fine, Jo— why wouldn’t I be?”

“You haven’t checked in on today’s news yet, have you? Or checked your phone?”

“I slept the whole flight over,” Anne says, pulling her phone out and making quick work of turning it back on. “I didn’t have time to take my phone off of airplane mode before they handed me over to security.”

It takes a few seconds to get reception, but once her phone does, the device in her hand starts chiming furiously. Anne’s eyes can barely keep up with the onslaught of alerts coming in from every possible direction— Twitter, Instagram, Gmail, iMessage…even from the Facebook profile she hasn’t updated in years and keeps meaning to delete.

“It’s probably better if you keep your phone off to be honest,” Josie says, obviously having heard the way it sounds as if the device is going haywire on Anne’s end.

“Josie,” Anne starts, a wash of anxiety beginning to spread its way across her body. “What’s going on?”

“You know how you and Gilbert were in Times Square last night?” 

“Yes…did he mention that to you this morning?” Anne says cautiously. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to keep him out so late before such a big event. I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Never mind about how late it was,” Josie says quickly. “Gilbert didn’t have to tell me you two were there— because I _saw it_ …this morning…it’s _everywhere_.”

“What?” Anne says deftly as her sleep-deprived brain tries to make sense of whatever news Josie is ever so gently trying to break to her.

“On Twitter, on E!, in all of the tabloids, on almost every online entertainment news outlet,” Josie rattles off. “Anne...you and Gilbert…you’re headlining news worldwide.”

“Why?!” Anne blurts out for lack of anything better. “ _How_?!”

“Someone saw you two out there, took a couple of photos, and sold them to TMZ— they posted them early this morning.”

“Well, I don’t know what they _think_ they saw,” Anne says. She’s unable to keep the heat out of her voice when she speaks, suddenly furious over the invasion of privacy, although more for Gilbert’s sake than her own. “But it must have been a slow morning if a picture of two friends hanging out was enough to set the internet on fire! Josie, I swear to god, _nothing_ happened last night that would merit this kind of press.”

“No offense Anne, but you’ve never been very good at really _seeing_ the way Gilbert looks at you,” Josie says in amusement. 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” she fires back irritably. 

“Don’t get upset,” Josie chides. “All I’m saying is that you maybe don’t notice the way he stares at you sometimes when you’re not staring back.”

“And how, pray tell, does Gilbert Blythe _look at me_ when I’m not looking back?” Anne says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“He looks at you like…well, like he never wants to look at anything else— _ever_ ,” Josie says finally. “At least, that’s what it looks like in the picture of the both of you that’s just gone viral,” she rushes out as a bit of an afterthought. “It’s kind of cute, really. You’ve got this big smile on your face and you’re looking up at all the billboards, but Gilbert’s just staring at you with that stupid goofy grin he only gets whenever he’s—”

“I’m sure the stupid grin in question had less to do with me, and more to do with the four rounds of drinks we had before we got there,” Anne interjects flippantly.

Josie lets out an undignified snort which Anne doesn’t give her the luxury of addressing. 

“So what now?” she asks instead, fiddling nervously with the phone’s coiled cord.

“We’re already working on trying to control it, but it’s _not_ going to be easy…Gilbert’s not one to be photographed out and about with women— unless it’s for work,” Josie says. “So the fact that he was out late at night in Times Square with a mystery girl? Well… _you’re_ in the entertainment industry. I’m sure you can see why something like this might merit the sort of response it’s getting. I’m not saying it’s _right_ , but it’s understandable.”

“I see,” Anne says, all traces of previous fire leaving her voice.

“Like I said, we’re already working on trying to control it, but it’s probably going to take a minute for the hype to die down,” Josie reiterates. “Gilbert and I both wanted to make sure we touched bases with you, and assured you’re safe before we got to work on putting out a statement.”

“Is he there with you?”

“He is. He’s pacing up a storm in the other room— I don’t think he’s been this upset since they posted those photos of him and Delphine,” Josie says quietly.

“Can I speak with him?” Anne asks. “If he wants to speak with me, that is.”

Josie puts her on hold and the next time the line goes live, it’s Gilbert’s voice on the other end.

“ _Carrots!_ Are you alright? Josie said there were already paparazzi waiting at LAX. I don’t know how they found your flight itinerary,” Gilbert says in rushed worry. “God, I’m _so sorry_ , Anne. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Calm down, Gil— it’s not your fault,” Anne says cutting him off.

“But it _is_ though. _I_ signed up for this— not you,” he continues. “It’s not fair that you’re getting dragged into this. That everyone I care about _always_ gets dragged into this, no matter how hard I try to keep them safe.”

The desperate helplessness in his voice makes her ache, and all of a sudden she finds herself wishing she were there with him. If she were, she wouldn’t hesitate to take him into her arms, to wrap herself around him with as much force as she could possibly muster. She’d hold on tight and she wouldn’t let go until she’d effectively shielded him away from anguish, or assumed the distress he was clearly feeling at the moment as her own. But she’s not there to wash the pain and helplessness away, so she does the next best thing she can think of and settles for cold, hard logic instead.

“Did you force me into friendship?” Anne asks.

“What?” Gilbert questions, sounding a bit confused as to why she’s asking him such a thing at a time like this.

“Yes or no will suffice, Gilbert Blythe,” she says firmly. “Did you force me into friendship? Hypnotize me somehow without my knowledge, and coerce me into offering it up to you?”

“No.”

“Did you force me into going out for drinks with you?”

“No.”

“Did you force me to take you around New York City last night?”

“No.”

“And did you, without my knowledge, orchestrate this whole situation by asking a stranger to take photos of us at Times Square so they could sell them to the tabloids in an effort to push some sort of false narrative?”

“ _No._ ”

“Then why on earth would you blame yourself for something you can’t control?” she says gently. “Now I know there are things about your life that aren’t ideal— things you can’t help, that you wish you could…but don’t you think I was smart enough to understand those things before I signed up to be your friend again?”

“Yes,” he whispers hesitantly. “But…well, I’d still understand you know? If you wanted to take it back.”

“Do you _want_ me to take it back?” she whispers in return.

“ _No_ ,” he says. “I _should_ tell you to though-- I should tell you to run for the hills so you can go back to leading your normal, quiet, _private_ life. But I’m too selfish to do that.”

The vulnerable honesty makes her eyes sting with unshed tears as Anne wonders how many people Gilbert has cut out of his life in an effort to nobly spare them from prying eyes.

“Well, normal’s overrated anyway,” Anne says through a watery laugh. She pauses, stealing herself for what she wants to say next. “Can you do something for me though?”

“Anything,” he says quietly.

“Will you give my sincerest apologies to Winnie?” She asks hesitantly. “I just…can’t stop thinking about how you’ve got the _Pride and Prejudice_ premiere tonight, and I can’t stand the idea of press in attendance asking about you and me instead of asking about the film.”

“Don’t worry about Winnie,” Gilbert says assuringly. “She knows how quickly these things can get out of control. In fact, I suspect she’ll appreciate getting a brief reprieve from constantly having to field questions about her and I.”

“Oh,” Anne says lamely. “Well, I guess at least if it helps the two of you out, that’s one good thing to come from all of this….so, what do we do now? Josie says your team’s been talking game plans. I imagine your camp will be releasing some sort of statement? That should suffice, although I’m sure Pop Cultured will want to release their own in light of my cover story-- especially since it's about you.”

“Right. She thought maybe you and I might want to talk about what it is we wanted the statement to say before they spruce it up.”

“Oh…” Anne says, pausing to think for a moment before she continues. “I guess we just tell them the truth, right? Stress that the only thing those photos show is two childhood friends enjoying each other’s company. Because that’s all it is at the end of the day, isn’t it? Just some pictures of two friends…?”

“Right. _Friends_ ,” Gilbert says quietly.

“Unless there’s another option I’m missing?” Anne asks tiredly rubbing a hand over her face.

“Someone briefly floated the idea of you and I maybe just playing along for a bit until the public inevitably gets bored of us,” Gilbert says slowly.

“What, like we fake date for a minute until some other hot celebrity couple comes along and steals the spotlight?” she asks through a nervous laugh. 

“Does the idea of you and me _really_ seem that hilarious?” he asks in response to Anne’s reaction. 

In her sleep deprived state, Anne considers the other option Gilbert has unceremoniously dropped on the table. A small piece of her yearns to selfishly jump at the chance to accept— if only for the sake of getting a taste of what it might be like to actually have Gilbert fawning over her. Anne knows that pulling off a convincing performance as Gilbert Blythe’s girlfriend would be as easy as breathing because she’s yet to run out of reasons to love him. She wouldn't be pretending though— not like he would. And deep down, Anne knows she’d never be able to survive the idea of Gilbert merely feigning feelings for her for as long as it would be convenient.

“ _Pretending_ to be in love with you?” Anne says carefully. “That’s not something I could ever do, Gilbert.”

Her response is met with deafening silence that stretches on for so long, Anne starts to wonder if perhaps they might have gotten disconnected.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah— yes,” Gilbert says hoarsely. “I’ll um…I’ll let Josie know that’s what you want to go with,” he clears his throat through a cough before he continues. “She’s here actually. She wants to talk with you about a few minor security protocols, so I’ll let you go.”

Gilbert’s gone before Anne can even utter a goodbye, and then Josie’s back on the line, briefing her on what she knows about the paparazzi situation.

She’d known they would be posted outside of LAX awaiting her arrival. But when Anne emerges, flanked by the same two security guards that had first escorted her from the gate, she’s still shocked by the chaos that ensues once the paparazzi catch wind of her presence. 

Suddenly, her guards are hastily shielding her, pushing her through a hoard of photographers who descend like vultures flocking to fresh meat. Cameras click and shutter at an alarming rate, and Anne’s vision goes blotchy as a byproduct of the flashing lights. The sound of her name being shouted intermingles with a barrage of questions. She only catches bits and pieces of their queries, but she doesn’t need context to know they’re all asking about Gilbert and the status of their relationship.

She keeps her head down and her mouth shut as Josie had suggested before they’d hung up, though Anne’s not sure if she could have forced out a comment even if she’d wanted to. The whole situation feels so utterly surreal, she’s almost positive she’ll wake up at some point only to find that she’s still safe, and on the plane, and all of the mayhem she’d just experienced had all been some sort of strangely disturbing in-flight dream.

Anne finally comes to again when the LAX guards shove her into a waiting car that whisks her away from the madness and in the direction of her apartment. She’d thought it was a bit of an overkill on Gilbert’s part to insist on sending a security team over to her place, but once they arrive in her West Hollywood neighborhood and she’s greeted by yet another onslaught of paparazzi, Anne suddenly finds herself feeling grateful for the private security detail he’d sent over in an effort to keep all of the prying eyes away from her front door. 

She speaks briefly with the head officer in charge, who assures her that no one will get near her first floor unit unless they’ve got explicit permission. Once inside her studio, Anne wastes no time in promptly flopping down on her bed and falling asleep.

Anne wakes some hours later, feeling disoriented as she takes in the familiar surroundings of the studio apartment she hasn’t seen in months. It takes a minute before she remembers that she’s not in New York City, but back in Los Angeles. It takes another minute for her to remember the chaotic events of the morning.

She digs around her bag for her cell phone, and makes the foolish mistake of turning it back. She’s met with another onslaught of alerts pouring in so fast, the screen freezes, as though unable to support the barrage of notifications still desperately firing through at her from every which end. She shuts it off as quickly as she’d turned it on, thinking distantly that perhaps it might just be easier to change her number. With her phone out of commission for the time being, Anne turns to her laptop instead.

The Facebook profile she hasn’t touched in years ends up proving useful. She shoots a quick group message off to Diana and Cole, giving them a condensed version of what went down. Anne assumes that, like the rest of the world, they’ve already heard about the frenzy she and Gilbert, and their night out in New York City had caused. Nevertheless, she feels better about the whole situation after she’s explained everything to her two closest kindred spirits in her own words.

Next, she sends a message off to Marilla, and the interrogation she receives in turn is enough to rival that of the paparazzi that had hounded her at LAX just a few hours ago. It’s only after her adoptive mother is thoroughly satisfied with Anne’s assurance that she’s safe, and the situation is being professionally handled by Josie, that Marilla fils Anne in on what’s transpired in Avonlea since the photos hit the internet.

It turns out that the paparazzi had wasted no time in descending upon her beloved hometown. While they’d gone sniffing around, hoping to get the townsfolk to talk, Marilla assures her that Rachel Lynde was taking it upon herself to personally ensure that no one in town so much as utter a word if questioned on details regarding Anne and Gilbert’s personal life. News of Mrs. Lynde’s valiant efforts to protect them from the paparazzi finds Anne feeling strangely emotional. Rachel might be the biggest purveyor of Avonlea gossip, but it warms her heart in a strange sort of way to know that while the people of Avonlea do love to talk, they’re also incredibly good at taking care of their own.

Finally, Anne fires up Slack and turns her attention to work. She’d been dreading reaching out to both of her editors most of all, but she figures it’s better to rip the bandaid off in one fell swoop.

**Laura Hartley:** We had our publicity team work with UTA to put out a statement that falls in line with what they’d already put out on behalf of Mr. Blythe. I’m sure it’ll die down in a few days— maybe a few weeks tops. You’ll be old news before you know it, Cuthbert.

 **Anne Shirley-Cuthbert:** What’s the plan regarding work? I’m happy to get back to the office beginning tomorrow morning if that’s alright with you, Sean.

 **Sean Smith:** Don’t worry about work for now. Besides, you could probably do with a long weekend, so why don’t you take tomorrow off as well and we can touch bases again on Monday. 

Anne can’t help but harp on Sean’s choice of phrase. Specifically, she thinks it’s quite telling that her West Coast managing editor had promised they would touch bases on Monday, instead of saying they’d talk about it once she was back in the office. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease of worry works its way between her brows. Briefly, Anne wonders if she should push back on it or ask for clarification. In the end, she decides that perhaps Sean’s wording is vague enough that it might give her a bit of wiggle room to show up at the office unannounced at the start of the week if she felt like it.

**Anne Shirley-Cuthbert:** Alright. Sounds good. Speak with you both then.

She spends the weekend desperately hoping that Laura’s words about how she’d soon be old news to come to fruition. But when #Shirbert is still the number one trending topic worldwide on Twitter come Saturday night, Anne starts to apprehensively wonder if the hype will ever really die down. She has a minor panic attack when the hosts of a podcast she likes to listen to start talking about how Billboard’s just reported that the Plain White T’s “Hey There, Delilah” has re-entered the Hot 100 Chart in the number 1 spot for the first time since 2007. 

The wheels in Anne’s brain come to life as abstract pitches related to the day’s big music news start taking shape in her mind. Any half-baked ideas Anne might have had come to a jarring halt when it turns out the hosts of the show have buried the lede: the only reason the track in question has re-entered the charts is because supportive, fancam making Medics can’t get over the way photos of Anne and Gilbert in New York City pair up so well with the line, “Times Square can’t shine as bright as you."

The Billboard report ends up proving useful— if only because it piques Anne’s interest enough to finally seek out these photos of her and Gilbert the rest of the world just can’t seem to stop talking about. And so, after finding a few bottles of red wine tucked away in the far back corner of her pantry and indulging in a few glasses, Anne finally works up the courage to type their names into Google late on Saturday night.

TMZ’s article pops up first. She ignores the copy of the actual report in favor of inspecting the photos that started this entire mess. There are a few of Anne and Gilbert in the middle of taking selfies, and a couple more of the two of them with their heads tilted toward one another as they inspect the photos they’d taken. 

Finally, there’s the photo of them that had gone viral. Josie had done a decent job of describing the bare bones of the photograph over the phone. Anne is in fact, staring up at the blinding lights of Times Square. Gilbert, in turn, is paying no mind to the gaudy sight before them in favor of staring at her profile. If Anne detaches herself from the situation and regards the image as an objective third party, she muses that she can sort of understand how it might look as though he’s completely infatuated with her. 

She can’t seem to hang on to the fallacy for long, though, and the rational part of her brain is quick to jump in with logical counterpoints.

_“Maybe it’s just a trick of the light…”_

_“The person who took this picture probably just got lucky— I’ll bet he wasn’t even staring for that long…”_

_“I’ll bet anything he probably just looked over to ask me a question….”_

Each seed of doubt that plants and grows in her mind comes equipped with a swift punch to the gut as her eyes stay glued to the photograph before her. Suddenly, the fact that Gilbert _isn’t_ actually in love with her like the rest of the world seems to _think_ he is makes her chest ache. She rubs absentmindedly at the top of her breastbone, as though perhaps the motion might soothe away the tightness beginning to form beneath her ribs. It doesn’t prove a useful remedy-- if anything, it only serves to draw more attention to her heart and the way the delicate organ feels as though it’s threatening to come apart at the seams in all of the places she’d thought she’d long ago reinforced it.

And because Anne’s already in too deep, and clearly hellbent on letting the ugly feeling of unrequited love linger overhead like a dark cloud, she caps off the night by consuming every bit of interview footage she can find from the _Pride and Prejudice_ red carpet.

She makes an impromptu drinking game out of it, punctuating each and every one of Gilbert’s heartbreaking grins with a swig of wine, hoping at some point the alcohol will serve to numb the pain. 

Anne’s breath hitches painfully in her throat the first time she hears Gilbert ever so nonchalantly say, _“Anne and I go way back, but we’ve never been more than great friends and that’s never going to change…”_

She adds Gilbert’s carefully crafted answer to questions about their rumored romance to the game she’s making up as she moves from clip to clip. She takes two generous gulps of wine whenever she hears him repeat the same sentiment she’s known to be true her whole life: _Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is a great friend, but that’s all she’ll ever be._ Anne had always assumed that that’s what Gilbert would have told her if she’d ever plucked up the courage to confess her feelings. But somehow, hearing Gilbert say it stings far more than the idea of those words ever had whenever she’d imagined what it might be like if he ever felt compelled to let her down easy. 

And when Winifred Rose appears in the next YouTube video Anne clicks on, and the pair share a knowing look that makes all of the colors in Gilbert’s hazel eyes dance like sparks coming off of a roaring fire, Anne downs the glass of wine she’d slowly been nursing and promptly pours herself another.

She wakes the next afternoon with a dry mouth and a splitting headache that has her vocally swearing off wine forever as she makes a beeline for the bathroom to brush her teeth. From there, she stumbles to the kitchen, fumbling as she fills a glass with ice before pouring water over top. She takes slow sips as she makes her way back to the living room where she’d fallen asleep with her laptop open. She quickly notes that at some point in the night she must have turned her cell phone back on. The device still glows with the occasional notification, but Anne breathes a sigh of relief that it isn’t chiming at the alarming rate it had been on Thursday when she’d first touched down at LAX.

Still feeding off of her sudden bout of curiosity from the night before, Anne bravely opens Twitter where Gilbert’s loyal fanbase seems to be at odds over whether to despise Anne for anything little thing they can grasp on to, or to throw their support behind her simply because if Gilbert loves her, then that’s all that should matter. Her heart swells in appreciation for all of the stan accounts going to bat for her, defending her honor, and applauding a relationship between herself and the man they all collectively love. 

Anne wishes it was enough— that all of the support coming from strangers all over the world was enough to drown out the negativity. But she’s only human, and it’s hard to brush off the vicious vitriol being spewed at her expense.

_No offense, but hasn’t she ever heard of full coverage foundation? Those freckles are awful._

_She might be prettier if her hair was a darker shade of red— it’s just so bright!_

_.@PopCulturedMag is my fave, but Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is definitely the weakest link— maybe next time you guys should hire someone who can actually write? Just a suggestion._

_Sorry, but I refuse to believe THIS is who Gilbert Blythe is dating. Like, Winifred Rose is RIGHT THERE and she’s a 10._

Anne knows she shouldn’t let it get to her. That the opinions of strangers on the internet who don’t know anything about her shouldn’t count for anything. But their words slice through her all the same, opening old scars of insecurities from her youth that had long since scabbed over. 

She’s about to turn her phone off again so she won’t be tempted to keep on reading when a text message from Gilbert pushes through.

**Gilbert:** Won’t be surprised if you still have your phone shut off, but just wanted to check in and make sure you’re alright.

For a moment, Anne contemplates unloading on Gilbert. She contemplates telling him about how disorienting it had been to work her way through the throng of paparazzi at LAX, about how it’s only been a few days but she’s already going stir crazy in her own studio, about how she can’t wrap her head around the idea that thousands of his fans have made up their minds to hate her for no reason other than the fact that she’s lucky enough to know him. Half of her wants to tell him everything, because if anyone might be able to understand what she’s going through right now it’s Gilbert. The other half of her— the half of her that wins out in the end— can’t bear to burden him with the truth. Especially not with the echo of their last phone call so fresh in her mind.

**Anne:** Everything’s fine— please don’t worry!

 **Gilbert:** You sure?

 **Anne:** Positive :)

 **Gilbert:** Okay. Call me if you need anything— you’re not the only one equipped to slay dragons around here, you know.

She lets out a laugh as she reads over Gilbert’s last reply, and her aching heart gives a feeble flutter over the realization that he’d chosen to parrot her own words back to her. The first night they’d met up at the dive bar seems like a lifetime ago given all that’s transpired since then. And while she appreciates the sentiment, and types out a quick response promising to let Gilbert know if she needs anything. She has no real intention of cashing in on the promise. Not when she knows Gilbert will only internalize whatever suffering she’s feeling and blame himself for it.

Anne sends a silent prayer of thanks to whoever’s listening when Sean calls her on Sunday night and lets her know she’s all clear to return to the newsroom if she feels up for it. Anne barely lets him get the words out before she responds with a resounding, “ _YES!_ I’ll be there!”

“We’ve briefed security in the lobby just in case,” Sean adds. “They’ve assured us no one’s allowed inside the building or the parking garage that’s not supposed to be there.”

“Got it. Thanks, Sean,” Anne says quietly, pausing to take a breath before she continues. “And I’m sorry— for everything. I hope this whole _situation_ didn’t take away from Friday’s issue.”

“Are you kidding? Your interview with Gilbert set a new publication record!” Sean says through a barking laugh. “Last week’s magazine is officially the highest selling issue in Pop Cultured history— they’re already issuing a reprint!”

“All those poor people who ordered copies are going to be so disappointed when they find out there are no salacious details about my non-existent, torrid love affair with _The_ Gilbert Blythe,” Anne says jokingly.

“You don’t need salacious details, Cuthbert— it’s a beautiful piece all on its own merits,” Sean says gruffly. “I hope you’re proud of it.”

Anne wishes she could assure him wholeheartedly that she _is_. She might have been able to if Sean had asked her whether or not she was proud of her article right after she’d submitted the final draft for the copy editors and fact checkers to look over. It’s harder for her to form the words now, after she’d spent the morning reading about strangers online picking her apart piece by piece-- scrutinizing everything from her appearance, to her writing capabilities.

“I am,” Anne replies halfheartedly. “I can’t wait to see it in person.”

“I’ll have an issue waiting for you on your desk tomorrow.”

“See you then,” Anne says brightly before hanging up.

And when she crawls into bed later that night, Anne drifts off to sleep feeling lighter for knowing that at least she’s still got the respect of the people who truly matter.

Anne’s apprehensive when she cracks her front door open at the start of the week. It’s the first time she’s left her place since she’d arrived, and she’s half expecting to be bombarded by yet another onslaught of cameramen. The only person who greets her, however, is the same security guard she’d met when she’d first arrived.

He offers her a kind smile and a quick greeting when she approaches his post at the front of her complex.

“Off to work?” he asks casually.

“Yes,” Anne answers, adjusting the strap on her bag as she stops a few feet away. 

“Don’t worry, Miss Cuthbert. Most of them cleared off last night— just a few stragglers left, but nothing to worry about.”

“Good to know,” Anne responds, relief instantly flooding her insides. “Thanks for keeping them at bay for the past few days.”

He tips his hat in response to Anne’s gratitude, and she makes a mental note to call Josie and let her know it might be safe to call off the troops. It’s only after she’s inching her way down Wilshire through the morning rush hour that Anne realizes it might be better to text Gilbert instead. She shoots him a text as soon as she’s safely made it to work and parked her car, hoping that it’ll serve to stop him from fretting over her like a mother hen.

**Anne:** Good news! Paparazzi got bored of waiting for me to come out and so they’ve gone. You can send security home now.

 **Gilbert:** Maybe tomorrow. Won’t hurt to keep them on a few extra days out of precaution.

Anne huffs in frustration, desperate for everything to go back to normal. But she lets Gilbert have this one all the same because at this point, she’s liable to do anything in her power to stop any lingering worry that might still be plaguing him.

**Anne:** Alright. You’re the expert— we’ll do it your way.

 **Gilbert:** You still doing alright?

 **Anne:** Everything’s fine— I promise.

 **Gilbert:** Okay. 

**Gilbert:** Also, I’m not sure how much it can be avoided in your line of work, but do me a favor and try not to fall down the social media rabbit hole if you can. 

Anne slumps in the driver’s seat as she reads over Gilbert’s last message, which instantly dredges up memories of some of the more vicious commentary she’d seen on Twitter over the weekend. She wonders if Gilbert had taken a look in an effort to satisfy his curiosity, or if his word of advice merely came from years of being in the public eye and knowing that there will always be someone out there who doesn’t like you for whatever reason.

She types out a variety of responses, fingers freezing in the middle of half-formed sentences before she furiously deletes whatever she’d started to write out.

_“Too late-- I’ve already…”_

_“Have you been taking your own advice, or are you keeping tabs on…”_

_“You know, if you get to look then I think it’s only fair…”_

In the end, Anne gives up and takes the easy way out.

**Anne:** _liked a reply._

She makes quick work of turning her phone on silent after. She tosses the device into the tote bag she’d brought with her before hastily making her way out of her car and toward the garage’s lobby entrance.

Her heart races in apprehension as she waits for the elevator, fueled by the terrible decision she’d made to take a glance out the window as soon as she’d gotten into the lobby. There’s a small handful of paparazzi posted outside, and while it’s clear that most of the people coming in to work at the multipurpose high rise building haven’t a clue what’s going on, she can tell they’re a bit disgruntled over having to deal with the extra security on a Monday morning.

Once on the sixteenth floor, Anne braces for the moment in which she’ll come face to face with her west coast co-workers again. Her stomach twists in knots the closer she gets to the newsroom, fueled by the sudden realization that she might very well have to spend the rest of the day fielding questions about Gilbert, and the photos, and New York.

She lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when she walks into the newsroom to little fanfare. The handful of co-workers she encounters on the way to her office offer her a mixture of pleasant smiles and quick utterances of “welcome back” before going about their business. There’s a piece of her that’s perplexed over the fact that no one’s pressing her for details like she’d been dreading they might. At the same time, Anne’s wholeheartedly relieved for the semblance of normalcy being back at work provides.

Her office sits untouched and unchanged from when she’d last seen it, save for a rather large crate of mail sitting at the center of her desk. Anne’s about halfway done sorting through the various PR packages she’d missed while she’d been away when Sean knocks on her open door.

“Settling back in alright?” he asks cheerfully.

“Yup!” Anne responds, looking up from a large crimson box she’d just lifted out of the crate, and holding the ostentatious package up for Sean to see. “Some of these networks clearly don’t skimp when it comes to press kits.”

“You missed the singing telegrams Fox sent over to promote that new competition series they’ve got coming down the pipeline next month.”

“Only in Hollywood, eh?” Anne says through a chuckle. “Anything I can do for you?”

“I thought you might be itching for an assignment or two. Think you can work your way through a couple of these screeners and write up some reviews for the Coming Soon column?” he asks, handing over a few nondescript DVD cases.

“You got it, boss,” Anne replies, already inspecting the titles.

“I also brought a few copies of last week’s issue,” Sean adds, dropping a small stack on to the corner of her desk. “Thought you might like to send one over to UTA.”

Anne nods, thanking her editor for saving a few copies of the magazine for her. She waits until Sean retreats back to his own office before she sits at her desk and pulls an issue toward her.

They’d gone with a tight shot of Gilbert bathed in a golden glow for the cover-- a creative choice that makes him almost look ethereal. She flips through the magazine until she lands on the page where her article begins, and a sense of accomplishment washes over her when she sees her name right under the headline. 

After taking a moment to admire the layout, Anne pulls a spare envelope out from behind her desk and stuffs a copy of the magazine inside. She stops just short of sealing it when she catches sight of the stack of post-it notes she keeps by her computer. Spontaneously, Anne pulls one off, grabs a pen and scrawls a quick note:

_Gil—_

_Thought you might like to see how the finished product turned out._

_Thanks for trusting me. I hope I proved myself worthy of it._

_Love,_

_Anne_

She sticks the note to the front of the magazine before carefully placing it back inside the envelope and sealing it shut. Once she’s done, Anne heads off in the direction of the office shared by the Pop Cultured interns.

There’s only one person in there today— a girl with raven hair that jumps slightly when Anne appears in the doorway.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Anne says apologetically. “Is it too late to get this added to the pile of packages getting sent out today?” she asks, holding the manila envelope up.

“Sure,” the girl says, shooting her a curious look. “None of us have had a chance to make it down to the mail room yet. Do you have an address?”

“Thanks! I don’t have an address, unfortunately— do you think you can look it up and add it to the shipping slip?” 

“Not a problem,” the intern replies, taking the envelope from Anne’s outstretched hand. “Where do you want it sent?”

“If you could send it to Gilbert Blythe care of Josie Sloane at UTA, that’d be great,” Anne rattles off.

“You mean you're not going to give it to him yourself?” she blurts out.

Anne feels her face heat at the girl's question and what it insinuates. The intern before her has the decency to look ashamed over her sudden outburst, but it's not enough to stop Anne from saying what she does next.

“I don’t think that’d be very _professional_ ,” Anne says icily, making sure to put extra emphasis on the final word. “Do _you_?”

The girl’s face burns red as she mutters a profuse apology. Anne stays for just long enough to hear her promise she’ll get the package posted right away before she turns on her heel without another word, and stalks out of the room.

Anne shuts the door to her office with a bit more force than she’d intended, wincing at the harsh sound before rubbing tiredly at her face.

_Was everyone in the office talking about her and Gilbert when she wasn’t around to hear it?_

_Were they just holding their tongue while she was around because nothing beats a redhead with a temper?_

_Were they all secretly whispering about it because Sean and Laura intervened and told everyone else not to speak of the rumors?_

She shoves the paranoid thoughts out of her mind as she crosses the small room and takes a seat in front of the computer. Once there, she hastily pops in one of the screeners she’d been assigned earlier, and vows to bury herself in her work for the rest of the day in an effort to drown out the noise in her head.

Anne’s first week back in the west coast newsroom plays out more or less in the same way her first day had. She arrives in the parking garage at promptly 9:50 a.m., where she answers a bare bones text from Gilbert, who’s always “just checking in” to make sure she’s “still doing alright.” to which Anne replies with some variation of, “everything’s fine.” She’s in her office with coffee in hand by 10 a.m., where she spends the rest of the day throwing herself into her work, and writing up the best short form reviews she can muster up for summer pilots she has very little interest in. 

Her newly formed routine finally deviates on Friday during the editorial meeting when she finds herself without an assignment for the Golden Globes on Sunday night. Anne waits until she knows Sean’s back in his office before she approaches, convinced that her editors leaving her off the team must have been an oversight.

“Cuthbert!” Sean booms jovially when he sees her loitering by his door. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask about the Golden Globes,” Anne says slowly. “I couldn’t help but notice I didn’t get my credentials packet— did you forget to bring it with you? I assume I’m back on the red carpet, and then in the winner’s room this year?”

Sean shoots her a tight grin before motioning for Anne to come inside and close the door.

“Have a seat, Cuthbert.”

He waits until she’s perched on one of the chairs in front of his desk before he speaks again.

“You’ve done a fantastic job covering both of those for us at the Golden Globes since we brought you on,” her editor starts carefully. 

“But…?” Anne prompts, itching for Sean to get to the point.

“But Laura and I were talking, and we thought that given everything that’s gone down, you might want to take a year off.”

“Take a year off?” Anne asks faintly, echoing Sean’s words as she tries to process them. “ _Why?_ ”

“Cuthbert, it’s barely been a week since the whole thing with you and Blythe—“

“But the hype’s died down a lot since then— I don’t even need the extra security by my place, or even outside of the building here at work anymore!” Anne says, cutting him off.

“That’s true…but Laura and I can’t help but feel as though by sending you to the Golden Globes, we’d be sending you into the lion’s den.”

“You wouldn’t be _forcing_ me— I’m asking to go,” Anne reasons. “I _want_ to go, Sean.”

“Are you _really_ ready for that though? Be honest, Cuthbert,” the editor says, leaning forward in his chair.

Anne opens her mouth to answer, but quickly shuts it in favor of mulling over Sean’s question. 

_Was_ she ready for the potential of facing more public scrutiny? For being around other reporters who might have follow-up questions despite the fantastic job Gilbert, Josie, and the rest of their team had done in sticking to the statement they’d put out? The truth of the matter was that Anne wasn’t quite sure. She was hardly done licking her wounds from the social media hate she’d foolishly read through. And there was no denying that seeing Gilbert again in person would likely cause her heart to shatter now that she’d thoroughly accepted the fact that he’d never love her the way she wishes he would. In the end, she can only think of one good reason why she should be allowed to go and cover the Golden Globes this year, just like she’d be doing any other year. Just _one_ reason— but it far outweighs all the uncertainty, and it’s enough for Anne to grasp on to in the heat of the moment.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready for it, Sean. I _want_ to get back to normal— and I can’t just keep living my life around the idea that someone might say something, or ask me a question that might hurt my feelings,” she says determinedly. “I refuse to let some silly rumors in the gossip mill stop me from doing the job I want to do.”

Sean stares at her for a moment, as though he’s trying to find a crack in Anne’s resolve.

“And what if Laura and I don’t think you’re ready?”

“ _Well_ …” Anne says carefully. “I’m sure I could find some other outlet who thinks I am— I _did_ just write the feature that set a new sales record for physical copies sold of this magazine, didn’t I?”

“You _wouldn’t_ …” Sean says, trying, but failing to stop a smile from beginning to tug across his wide mouth.

“Do you _really_ want to find out?” she asks.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before Sean finally caves. “No pre-show red carpet, no winner’s room— you’ll cover the big WB/In Style after party and _that’s it._ Deal?”

“Deal!” Anne says quickly, not wanting to press her luck.

“Credentials are inside,” the editor says, pulling a small envelope out from his desk and handing it over to Anne. “Dress Code is black tie. If you don’t have anything to wear, check with the stylist over in broadcasting and tell them I sent you. They might have some extra gowns left over from what they pulled for the on-camera talent for you to choose from.”

After lunch, Anne takes Sean’s advice and heads up to broadcasting to see if she might be able to find something to wear on Sunday night. The department’s stylist turns out to be a friendly woman with large brown eyes named Phil Gordon, who’s more than happy to help.

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy!” she says, as Phil leads her into a room with multiple racks of clothing. “Really! I’m not doing any on camera work, so anything will do— a simple black cocktail dress, even, if you have it.”

“Nonsense!” says Phil, who wastes no time in quickly making her way around the room and pulling everything she can find left over in Anne’s size. Once she’s done, Anne’s left with more than a dozen dresses to choose from in a variety of cuts and colors.

“Thanks so much for doing this,” Anne says as she watches Phil arrange them on a vacant rack. “I didn’t expect you to have so many options for me.”

“You’ve certainly got plenty to choose from!” Phil agrees. “I’ve got to step out and see about a tux fitting for one of the guys, but just leave the tag for whatever you’re borrowing. I’ll need the dress back by Tuesday.”

“That’s doable,” Anne confirms. “Thanks again!”

Phil’s off with a final wave, leaving Anne alone to sift through taffeta, lace, satin, and tulle. 

Anne makes quick work of weeding out a few different gowns in various shades of pink, convinced they’d all clash horribly with her red hair. She rules out a few more pretty dresses in red and gold, thinking both look a bit too flashy. She breathes a sigh of relief when she spies a floor length black dress amidst the splashes of color. 

The velvet dress is simple, with very little frill, but it’s more of what Anne had been envisioning in the first place. It’s only when she pulls the black dress out that her eyes land on the dress behind it— a blue gown with thin straps made of soft, shimmering satin. The delicately sequined bodice flares out into a flowing floor length gown that almost looks like water when the skirt moves. The simple black dress lays forgotten as Anne carefully pulls the sapphire dress out from the confines of the rack, noting that the deep v neckline in the front is nothing compared to the way the exposed back dips low before scooping delicately back up.

She’s thoroughly lost in her imagination, thinking of what Sunday night might look like if she were brave enough to wear the beautiful dress before her— swept up in the idea of what _Gilbert’s_ reaction might be if he saw her in it, when a voice from behind her startles her back into reality.

“They told me you’d be down here. I was hoping you hadn’t left yet.”

“Josie!” Anne says, whirling around from the dress rack, blue gown still in her arms. “What are you doing here?”

“I got the magazine you sent over for Gilbert,” she replies. “Funny how you signed your note with love and yet, Gilbert’s still too blind to see how true the sentiment really is.”

Josie’s bluntness makes Anne feel self-conscious, as though the contents of her soul have just been stripped bare and put on display for the world to see. But she stubbornly swallows her sheepishness, hellbent on standing her ground in an effort to give off the illusion that the other girl’s words have made little impact.

“Did you really come all this way to let me know you’ve figured out that I’m in love with him?” Anne asks, straining to keep her voice light. “I’m sorry you wasted your time if that’s the case— my feelings aren’t exactly breaking news.”

“No,” Josie says briskly. “I came here to ask you why you haven’t _done_ anything about it.”

“I hardly think it would be appropriate— especially not when I already know he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“ _Idiots_ — the _both_ of you,” Josie mutters, casting her eyes up to the ceiling.

“What did you say?” Anne asks, eyes narrowing.

“He’s miserable without you, you know,” Josie says instead of answering her question. “Gilbert’s moody on a good day— he’s sort of always been that way, come to think of it— but there’s something about him that changes when you’re around. It’s like he _lights up_.”

“I don’t think—“

“You don’t _think_ because you don’t _see_ it, Anne,” the other girl says, effectively cutting her off. “Not like I do— not like _everyone_ does.”

Anne stands there gobsmacked, unsure of what to say. In the end, it doesn’t really matter because Josie isn’t quite out of words just yet.

“Look, Anne. I can’t tell you what to do. But what I _can_ tell you is that you’ve either got to figure out how to tell Gilbert that you love him, or you’ve got to let him down easy— go back to the way things were before you waltzed back into his life,” she continues. “Because I’m telling you right now that yours is a heartache he won’t survive. From a purely selfish standpoint, I can’t have my top client out of commission for however long it takes for him to put himself back together.”

“Put himself back together?” Anne parrots back angrily. “What about _me_? What about _my_ heart? If you’re so sure he feels something for me, then why aren’t you having this conversation with him? Why do _I_ have to be the brave one here?”

“You _know_ he won’t push you, Anne— not when he already feels like he’s put you through so much after those pictures leaked last week. He thinks…” Josie pauses for a moment, eyes boring into Anne’s with an intensity that she feels deep within her bones. “He thinks you deserve better than someone who’s just going to make your life more difficult.”

Anne’s at an utter loss for words as her brain kicks into overdrive, trying its best to process what she’s hearing. She’s never been able to entertain the idea of Gilbert reciprocating her feelings for long. At the same time, it’s impossible to poke holes in Josie’s explanation. And her heart flutters furiously away in her chest when she comes to the conclusion that there’s some truth to what Josie’s saying. Because Anne knows without a shadow of a doubt that Gilbert would selflessly stay away from her if he thought it was what was in her best interest.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Josies says gently. “I know it’s a lot to process. You’re going to the Golden Globes on Sunday, right?”

“‘Yes,” Anne croaks out. “I’m covering the carpet at the WB/In Style party.” 

“He’ll be there, you know,” Josie says quietly. She waits for Anne to nod in acknowledgement before she continues. “I’ll be coming by to scope out the outlets on the carpet. If you happen to decide that you don’t want to see him— if you feel like you need more time— then I’ll make sure he doesn’t even know you’re there.”

“Okay,” Anne whispers back. 

“I do have one question though,” Josie says hesitantly. “The fear of rejection I can understand. But I just can’t help but feel like there’s something else that might be holding you back…?”

Anne’s ready to deflect, the word _“nothing”_ sitting on the tip of her tongue. But there’s something about the way Josie’s asked her, something about the warm earnestness in her tone that makes her pause for thought. And suddenly, it dawns on her that she’s always been quick to pin her inability to confess her feelings on Gilbert, and the notion that he doesn’t love her like she loves him. But Josie’s the first person in her life who’s ever pointed out that perhaps, the only person standing in the way this time around, is herself. Once the revelation hits, it’s not long before Anne finds her answer. She swallows back the lump that’s beginning to form in her throat, and digs her nails painfully into the palms of her hands as she breathes in slow and deep through her nose.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, Josie,” she confesses fearfully. “I _wish_ I were— I _thought_ I would be. But the fans? The paparazzi? It all seemed so much easier to manage before I got a taste of it. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep dealing with it.”

“But that’s the thing, Anne. You’ve got to be sure— if you have any intention of staying in Gilbert’s life, you have to be _absolutely_ _sure_ you can take the good with the bad.”

“And if I’m not?” Anne whispers back.

“If you’re not, then it’s better to bow out gracefully before things escalate,” Josie says firmly. “A clean break now? He’d be hurt, but he’d survive. And so would you.”

“D’you know what the worst part is?” Anne asks tiredly through a hollow chuckle. “It’s that everyone has an opinion— everyone thinks that they know us— but they know nothing about us. Not really. And they especially don’t know anything about me. It’s like they think that I’m this person who got here five minutes ago, when the truth of the matter is that I’ve been loving him my whole life.”

“For what it’s worth, the Anne Shirley-Cuthbert _I_ know would _never_ let anyone else’s opinion of her dictate what she can and can’t do,” Josie offers up.

She thinks Josie might just leave the conversation at that, but instead, the blonde reaches into her rather large purse and pulls out an old book from within and holds it out for Anne to take.

“He picked this up for you when we were out on the UK leg of the press tour. Kept saying he was going to send it but he never did.”

Anne carefully hangs the dress she’d been holding on the end of the rack before she takes the book from Josie. It’s not until she flips the cover open that Anne realizes it’s an old copy of Jane Austen’s _Persuasion_. She recognizes Gilbert’s tidy scrawl on a slip of paper he’s tucked into the front of the book that instructs her to turn to a specific page. She flips through the pages with trembling fingers until she finds the right spot, eyes instantly drawn to the four short lines Gilbert has carefully taken it upon himself to underline:

_I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach._

_You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope._

_Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever._

The weight of the words aren’t lost on her. For the first time in her whole life, Anne wholeheartedly believes it when a small voice in the back of her mind dares to hesitantly whisper, _maybe he really does love you, too._ And for some reason, the magnitude of that quiet revelation is enough to convince her that perhaps she’s stronger than she’s been giving herself credit for lately.

“I think maybe he was waiting for the right time,” Josie continues, slicing in to Anne’s thoughts. “But then again, when have you two ever been great with timing?”

Anne can’t help the choked laugh that escapes out of her at her friend’s words. “Thanks, Josie.”

“Don’t mention it. Is that what you’re wearing to the Golden Globes?” Josie asks, gesturing to the blue dress Anne had just hung up.

“I’m not sure,” Anne replies. “I think maybe it might be a bit much. I’ll probably go with something black and boring.”

“Too bad…it’s a beautiful dress,” Josie laments. “Well, I guess I’ll see you on Sunday, then.”

“Yeah, see you,” Anne replies.

Josie’s barely out the door before Anne finds herself calling her back.

“The dress,” Anne says, clutching the book tightly in between her hands. “Do you…do you think Gilbert would like it?”

“I _think_ …that it’s probably a good thing you’re only covering the after party this year,” Josie says through a knowing grin. “Because there’s no way Gilbert’s going to be able to tear his eyes away from you once he catches sight of you wearing _that._ ”

Josie leaves Anne to her own devices with a final wave. 

Anne follows her out the door a few moments later, Gilbert’s gift tucked under one arm, and the blue dress carefully folded over the other. And despite the way her stomach twists in knots over the prospect of laying her heart out on a silver platter for Gilbert to do with whatever he sees fit, Anne also can’t help but think that Sunday night at the Golden Globes can’t come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a bit later with this update than I wanted to be, but it feels so good to finally be sharing this chapter with you all. There were so many days in the middle there where I seriously thought chapter 6 was never going to get written, and now that it’s out there in the world (clocking in at well over 9,000 words no less) it feels pretty damn great!
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and sticking with this story— it’s very much my baby, so your love and support for it warms my heart to no end.
> 
> And thank you in advance if you’re kind enough to provide me with that the sweet, sweet validation I crave by leaving me comments and/or kudos— your comments (no matter how long or short) always mean so much! And they’re especially motivational when writer’s block is thoroughly kicking my ass like it was over the course of the past few weeks!
> 
> Finally, the BIGGEST of thanks to [The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye), who continues to be the best beta/sounding board/motivational cheerleader!
> 
> See y’all when I see you for the next chapter!
> 
> In between updates, you can come and chat with me over on [Tumblr](https://xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com/) and/or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE)!


	7. Chapter 7

Anne sets aside an absurd amount of time with which to get ready for the Golden Globes, but somewhere between nicking the back of her knee while shaving and somehow managing to singe a lock of her hair with a curling wand, the panic starts to set in. 

When a mishap with a mascara wand leaves her with an irritated cornea and a botched third attempt at a smokey eye, Anne finally caves and reaches for her laptop.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up…” she chants, hoping with all her might that the call will connect, as one of her legs restlessly bounces up and down.

Diana’s smile is bright when her face pops up on the laptop before her, but it falters as her brow furrows in concern the moment Anne’s own video connects on her end. She knows she must look like a mad woman with her hair half done up in the curlers she'd swapped in for the curling wand, and a beauty blender pressed to the corner of her reddening eye in an effort to catch the tears threatening to streak through her concealer. 

Even so, Anne doesn’t give Diana the luxury of commenting on the state she’s currently in. As soon as she’s positive the call has connected, she wastes no time in blurting out what’s troubling her.

“I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!” Anne wails without preamble, effectively cutting off any pleasantries she and Diana might have otherwise exchanged if she’d called her on any other afternoon.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Diana says through an undignified snort without skipping a beat.

“Gilbert Blythe is also maybe, sort of, in love with me too…?” Anne offers up through a wince.

Diana’s brown eyes widen as a knowing grin pulls across her lips.

“ _ I knew it _ ! He’s always been a little bit smitten with you— ever since you smacked him over the head with your binder back in middle school! And then those pictures? Oh my  _ god _ !” Diana rambles. “Does he  _ know _ that you love him? Does he know that  _ you  _ know that  _ he  _ loves  _ you _ ?”

Anne opens her mouth to answer her question, but Diana cuts her off. “Wait! Strike that! You said maybe. Why  _ maybe _ ? Why are we only  _ maybe _ convinced he’s in love with you?”

“I think I better start from the beginning,” Anne sighs.

“That’s probably for the best— the cliff notes version, please,” Diana insists. “But only because I assume you’re on a time crunch because of the Golden Globes tonight?”

Anne glances toward the clock in the top right hand corner of her screen. Diana must see the panic bloom within her eyes, because before she knows it, her bosom friend is walking her through some deep breathing exercises.

“Stay calm, Cuthbert— you can talk to me  _ and _ get ready at the same time.”

Anne nods, taking her laptop into the bathroom so she can fill Diana in on what’s transpired over the course of the past few weeks as she wills her fingers to work some magic and sort out the mess of curlers on her head.

It’s like Anne can feel her soul growing lighter the more the words pour out of her. Diana has yet to offer up any sort of advice or wisdom for her to cling to, but somehow, just knowing that she's listening is enough to bring the apprehension sloshing around in her stomach down from a rolling boil to a rapid simmer.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all of the different ways tonight could possibly go terribly wrong,” Anne says, teeth worrying her lower lip.

She’s moved her laptop back to the living room now, balancing Diana on the corner of the TV stand while she rifles through the contents of her closet in pursuit of proper footwear.

“Maybe it’ll help if you run through the list with me?” Diana offers. She pauses for a moment and shakes her head, muttering a quick “ _ too plain!”  _ when Anne holds a simple black pump up to the screen for her to consider. 

“Won’t that make it worse though?” Anne asks as she unceremoniously tosses the vetoed pumps into a reject pile of shoes she’s got going in the corner. “Focusing on all of the negatives…it kind of feels like I’d be tempting fate.”

“Not after you see how easy it is for me to come up with counter arguments to all of your  _ ‘what if’ _ scenarios,” Diana says matter-of-factly. “Come on, just try it.”

“Alright,” Anne says, casting a quick dubious glance at Diana before crawling forward to sift through the rest of her shoe pile. “What if he doesn’t even show up?”

“He’s nominated for Best Supporting Actor, isn’t he?” Diana supplies readily. “That’s a major category— there’s no way he’s skipping out tonight.”

“That’s true,” Anne concedes, sighing when Diana wrinkles her nose at a pair of fancy flats she holds up to the camera with hope. “Okay, so…odds are he’s definitely going to be at the Hilton tonight. But what if he doesn’t even show up to the party I’m at.”

“How many after parties are there?” Diana questions.

“ _ Tons _ ,” Anne replies, discarding the shoes before heading back into the closet. “At least five at the hotel— and that’s not even including the one I’m covering. What if I can’t even find him?”

“You have Josie’s number, don’t you? That girl’s glued to her phone 24-7. I’m sure, if push came to shove, you could call in a favor.”

“Imagine _ that _ conversation,” Anne laughs before she sits cross-legged on the floor and mimes making a phone call. “ _ Hey Josie! It’s Anne! Do you by chance have eyes on Gilbert? Why am I asking? Oh, it’s no big deal or anything! But I was just sort of hoping I could unburden my heart tonight. So if you could maybe let me know where he is so I can head over and make a complete fool of myself by professing my undying love for him in the middle of a crowded room, that’d be great! _ ”

“I mean…the delivery could use some work, but you've always had a way with words— I’m sure you’d think of the right thing to say in the moment!” Diana says encouragingly.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Anne laments. “What if, when I’m finally there, standing right in front of him, I can’t remember any words at all? Or what if I say something stupid and it just comes out all wrong?”

“Then it’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids…?”

“Oh  _ god _ !” Anne cries, completely glossing over Diana’s quip about she and Gilbert’s hypothetical future together as another thought takes over her brain. “What if… _ what if _ he’s talking to Tom Hanks or something, and I accidentally interrupt their conversation? What if he’s talking to  _ Colin Firth _ and I interrupt their conversation?”

“How did we get from Tom Hanks to Colin Firth?” Diana asks through a stifled giggle. “Is Colin Firth even supposed to be there?”

“Not  _ technically _ … but he  _ could _ be there,” Anne says, slumping against the opposite wall. “God, could you imagine? Gilbert  _ and _ Colin Firth in the same room? Conversing?  _ Together _ ? I would  _ die _ , Diana. If not from the sheer onslaught of eye candy, then surely from mortification I’d surely feel after trying to hit on both of them simultaneously.”

"Anne, we've gone over this many times before: Colin Firth is a happily married man. Besides, I thought you were in love with Gilbert— you’re telling me that you’d  _ still _ try to hit on Colin Firth with the love of your life standing  _ right _ there?”

“It’s  _ Colin Firth _ , Diana— Gilbert wouldn’t hold it against me— he knows Colin Firth has been my number one since we were twelve!”

“Two Mr. Darcys in one room? Your brain would short circuit.”

“I wonder if I could get them both to recreate the lake scene together if I got them drunk enough. Or maybe I could just… _ conveniently _ push them into one of the pools?  _ God _ . Imagine Colin Firth  _ and _ Gilbert completely drenched in formal wear— I’d have enough fantasy material to last a lifetime,” Anne sighs.

“I thought you wanted to marry the both of them, not drown them!” Diana laughs.

“Gil’s a strong swimmer. Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t let Colin Firth drown!” Anne says, crawling back over to the closet. She reaches for the closest dress shoes— a pair of strappy black heels with a sizable stiletto that she's already gearing up to toss into the discard pile.

“That’s the one!” Diana exclaims excitedly. “That’s the shoe!”

Anne lets out a whine akin to that of a petulant toddler who’s just been told they can’t, in fact, have cookies for every meal of the day. “Seriously?  _ These _ ?” she asks, holding the shoes up halfheartedly.

“Yes! Classic, but sexy— the perfect combination!” Diana says clapping enthusiastically. 

“More like the perfect death trap!” Anne groans. “What if I wear these and I fall in front of everyone?”

“Ideally, Gilbert will be there to catch you, or make sure you don’t trip at all,” Diana says, waggling her eyebrows.

“What if he’s not there and I still fall? Or I step on the dress I borrowed and rip it?” Anne rambles. “What if these shoes cause a wardrobe malfunction and I end up flashing an entire room of my journalistic peers and Hollywood A-listers?!”

“Show me the dress. I’ll tell you how likely I think you are to be escorted off the premises for indecent exposure.”

“You know, I still don’t know what I was thinking when I picked it out at the office on Friday,” Anne mumbles absentmindedly as she walks over to where she’d carefully laid the dress out across her bed for safe keeping. “I still don’t even know if I can pull it off— what if I look stupid in it?”

“Well, there’s no backing out now,” calls out Diana’s disembodied voice from where she’d left the laptop. “You don’t even have a backup to go with— I’m sure whatever you picked out is fine!”

Anne turns the laptop away from the closet, backs up as far as she can and holds the dress out so Diana can get a good look at the front, before she turns the garment around so her friend can inspect the back.

“You’re quiet—  _ too  _ quiet— and it’s  _ not  _ helping the nerves,” Anne huffs exasperatedly.

“Sorry,” Diana says quickly. “I was just thinking about how I’m going to have to bail you out of jail for involuntary manslaughter. You know, after I wake up tomorrow to headlines like, ‘Hollywood Tragedy: Blythe drops dead at Golden Globes after party; redheaded culprit in custody.’”

The idea is so preposterous, Anne can’t contain the peals of laughter that escape and overtake her. Her laughter is so infectious that it’s not long before Diana’s joining in and the both of them are giggling together.

“But in all seriousness, if Gilbert Blythe does not appreciate that dress for what it is, I will  _ personally  _ fly out to Los Angeles and kill him myself,” Diana adds after the laughter subsides. 

“Thanks, Diana— you’re a good friend,” Anne says meaningfully.

“Do you feel better now? You seem more relaxed, for what it’s worth.”

“Still nervous, but it doesn’t feel so all-consuming,” Anne says, nodding happily. “Seriously though, thank you. For taking my mind off of it for a bit.”

“Any time,” Diana says grinning back at her. 

She stays on the line as Anne puts the finishing touches on her hair and makeup with much steadier hands than before she’d caved and called Diana.

The butterflies return in full force after Anne slips into the satin sapphire dress and carefully closes the short zipper that runs up the small of her back. She chances a quick look in the bathroom mirror, adjusting a stray pin that’s sticking out from where she’d carefully pulled a few strands of hair away from her face before she heads back out into the living room. 

“You look stunning!” Diana says in awe as Anne makes her way back to where she’d left her laptop open on the coffee table.

Anne thanks her quietly as she sits so she can pull on the heels they'd picked out earlier. Meanwhile, Diana runs through a verbal checklist of items ranging from lipstick and face powder, to band aids for any potential blisters. It's not unlike the way they used to operate back when they were still Queens students and gearing up to go out for a night on the town, and the familiarity of it all warms Anne to the core.

When the time comes to say goodbye and hang up, Diana doesn’t let Anne go until she promises she’ll call later and give her a full rundown of the night. In turn, Anne doesn’t let Diana go until she asks her friend one final question.

“ _ What if _ …what if I tell him, and it turns out he’s changed his mind about me, and that’s why he never sent the book,” Anne asks through a small voice. 

“If that’s the case? Well, then he doesn’t deserve you,” Diana says firmly.

  
  
  


The Uber she orders arrives far quicker than she’d been expecting, and Anne leaves her apartment in such a flurry, she doesn’t even have time to worry about whether the bottoms of her heels are too slippery to be safe. It’s a small victory, albeit one she’ll happily take, when she arrives at the car in one piece, thinking to herself that at least she can cross  _ ‘falling on my ass due to death trap heels’ _ off of her list of ways the night could go horribly wrong.

Her driver is an older man who greets her warmly, but doesn’t push conversation apart from asking whether the temperature of the car is alright, and if there’s anything in particular she’d like to listen to. Anne’s grateful that she doesn’t have to engage in small talk she’s not sure she can muster up at the moment. Instead, she busies herself with triple checking her purse to make sure she’s got everything she needs for the night, before she turns to her cell phone.

She’d been keeping one eye on the ceremony while FaceTiming with Diana as she got ready for the evening, but she takes a moment to scroll through Twitter and check for any major moments she might have missed.

Busying herself with work in the back of the Uber turns out to be a welcome distraction, but one that doesn’t last as long as she’d hoped. And once that’s done, Anne finds herself left alone with nothing but her thoughts for company as the car inches its way down the 101 and through the ever-present LA traffic. 

She fingers the silky blue satin of the dress, transfixed over the lovely way the sunlight filtering in through the backseat window catches on the material in her hand. There’s something about the way the silk shines that makes the bitter feel of apprehension reappear. It curls and twists in her stomach, dredging up another bout of doubt along with it. She doesn’t even realize she’s been nervously drumming her fingers against the hard plastic interior of the door until her driver shoots her an apologetic look through the rearview mirror.

“Not much longer now, Miss— we’re almost there!” He assures her. “Would you like some water while you wait? Or does your phone need some charging? I have some cords here if that’s the case.”

“No, thank you,” Anne says, offering the man a kind smile as she meets his gaze through the reflection.

His eyes are hazel too, albeit not as bright as the ones that haunt her dreams. But it’s enough of a correlation for thoughts of Gilbert to float into her mind, and once he’s there, it’s impossible to get him out of her head.

Lately, Anne can’t seem to shake the strange feeling that she’d needed Gilbert to waltz back into her life more than she ever even knew. It was as if there’d been a hole in her heart she hadn’t realized had been there until Gilbert had shown up and patched it up like he’d always been made to fill the void. A Gilbert shaped indentation that had, somehow, morphed into something different along the way. Like he’d covered the scars he’d inadvertently left on her heart with an imprint of his own making— one that shines so bright it reminds Anne of the way the golden rays of sunlight have a tendency to slice through the drab rainy days that are few and far between in Southern California.

Anne’s never been one for the way the sun has a tendency to shine so unnaturally bright all the time in Los Angeles. But she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she could get used to endless sunshine, the likes of which only Gilbert could provide. She’d get used to all of it if he’d let her— his cloudless days, his stormy nights, his dreary overcast mornings— because at this point, her heart is so decidedly  _ his _ , she knows without a shadow of a doubt that there’s not a single piece of him she  _ wouldn’t  _ love.

Despite how much it terrifies her, Anne can’t wait to tell him. To get that behemoth of a confession off of her chest once and for all. And while she has no reason to believe Gilbert won’t be receptive to her feelings, Anne can’t seem to shake the nerves away. She comes to the strange conclusion that she’s also not entirely sure if she’d want to banish the nerves away even if she could— if only because the idea of it all seems far too momentous to feel absolutely nothing at all.

It’s her driver’s voice telling her they’re approaching Constellation Avenue that eventually pulls Anne away from the jumble of thoughts and back into the present. She thanks him as he pulls up to a large, nondescript parking structure, immediately regretting her decision to forgo a jacket of some sort when she steps out of the car and the crisp evening air bites at her exposed shoulders.

The Beverly Hilton is still about a mile up the road, but Anne’s worked the Golden Globes enough to know it’d be foolish to ask her driver to brave the absurd amount of security checkpoints in an effort to drop her any closer. Instead, she makes her way over to where a small crowd of people stand huddled together waiting for a shuttle to come and whisk them away to the hotel. She barely has time to slip the bulky press pass over her head before the shuttle pulls up and the driver starts ushering everyone on board.

The lobby of the Beverly Hilton is all shiny tiled flooring and daunting marbled pillars, softened only by the warm glow of honey hued lighting that casts strategic shadows across the expansive space. 

Anne breaks off from the group of individuals that had boarded the shuttle alongside her, all of whom are heading in the direction of the famed International Ballroom where the awards ceremony is still taking place. She hangs a left instead, following the curve of the hallway and lamenting the loss of the plush red carpet beneath her feet that had, up until momentarily, been doing wonders to help her feel a bit more secure in her strappy heels. For a few feeble moments, the sound of her own footsteps is all she hears as she heads off in the general direction of the Oasis Courtyard, but the clacking of stilettos on smooth tile is soon drowned out by the hustle and bustle of a rather large crowd that’s already milling up ahead.

The lobby lounge is packed with prospective partygoers taking up every inch of space and as they wait for the night’s festivities to begin. Anne dodges a server precariously balancing a hefty tray of mini bottles of Moët champagne topped with gilded sippers and makes a beeline for a large, pygmy palm planter. The ornamental greenery surrounding the base of the tree tickles at her bare back as she perches atop the harsh stone, turning her attention to a sizable flat paneled screen that’s broadcasting the show in real time. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are on stage and wrapping up a bit involving audience participation, which gives way to an introduction to the next presenter. By a sheer stroke of luck, Anne’s made it just in time to catch the Best Supporting Actor category—  _ Gilbert’s _ category. Her breath catches in her throat as the camera pans over to the man in question, who’s sitting at a table along with a few other actors she recognizes from the World War II drama she’d seen him in back when it had hit theaters in December. 

Anne has spent months preparing to cover award show season. She knows the list of nominees for all of the major categories like she knows the back of her own hand. She’d known since they first announced nominees that the Best Supporting Actor category was stacked this year. But there’s something about seeing Gilbert’s face alongside a slew of other Hollywood heavy hitters that really puts the idea of just how high his star has risen in such a short amount of time into perspective. He’s the youngest actor in the category by far, and easily the least decorated. And despite the fact that realistically, Anne knows the Hollywood Foreign Press Association tends to favor rewarding more seasoned veterans when it comes to the bigger awards of the night, she can’t help but throw logic out the window as she watches on with both fingers and toes crossed, wholeheartedly rooting for Gilbert to win despite the odds. 

Every second it takes for the presenter to fumble with the stubborn envelope in their hands feels like it drags for centuries, but the agony of waiting makes the moment in which the camera shoots back over to Gilbert feel even sweeter. The breath she’d been holding leaves her lungs in a resounding whoosh as her mouth spreads into a smile so wide she’s worried it’ll split her face in two. It doesn’t even register that she’s stood to clap for him until the motion earns her a few curious glances from the people around her. For the first time in weeks, Anne can’t bring herself to care enough about what other people might think because somehow, the joy she feels on Gilbert’s behalf is enough to eclipse everything else. 

She settles back down onto her makeshift seat only once Gilbert’s been handed the award and he’s made his way over to the microphone. It’s far too loud in the lobby lounge to hear what he’s saying for the better part of his acceptance speech, but Anne doesn’t need audio to know what Gilbert’s doing when he lifts the award in his hand up above his head and tilts his gaze meaningfully up toward the heavens. The thought of John Blythe looking down on his only surviving son with sheer and utter pride makes her eyes well, and Anne doesn’t even bother trying to stop the tears once they start streaming down her cheeks.

Anne’s never felt more grateful for her press pass than she does when it helps her bypass a growing line of guests looking to get into the WB/InStyle party before the Oasis Courtyard reaches maximum capacity. She takes a moment to survey the small red carpet area set up in a cramped hallway before following the hotel signage leading to the women’s restroom. 

The powder room is already packed with brand ambassadors for various party sponsors armed with everything from hairspray and hot tools, to breath mints and toothpaste, each eager to help whatever starlet might stumble in searching for a bit of help freshening up. They pay her no mind, and Anne knows it’s because she’s a person of little importance, which suits her just fine. Instead she makes her way over to the end of the long line of sinks where there’s a small modicum of free space. 

Anne leans against the pink marble countertop in an effort to get a closer look at herself in the mirror, noting the spots where the joyous tears she’d shed at the expense of Gilbert’s big win have streaked through the makeup on her cheeks. Thankfully, it’s nothing a little powder can’t fix up. She takes her time applying the product before moving on to touching up her lipstick, the act of concentrating on blending and swiping doubling as an effective means of distraction. Once her face is set, she turns her attention to the thin dress strap on her right shoulder. Anne’s only vaguely aware of someone wearing a glimmering gold gown coming to stand by the vanity next to hers. She’s far too preoccupied with the task at hand, fiddling with the strap and bodice of her own dress in an attempt to get the material to lie flat and cooperate just like it is on her left side.

“I had the same trouble with my dress for the SAG Awards— but it’s nothing a little fashion tape can’t fix right up.”

It takes a moment for Anne’s brain to register that the disembodied voice is speaking to her. And even after she pans her eyes up past the gold sequined ballgown, and settles her gaze on the person’s face, it takes another moment for Anne to realize that the woman speaking to her is none other than Winifred Rose.

Winifred offers Anne a small smile as she lifts a hand holding a roll of tape up toward her. 

“May I?” she asks timidly, as though worried that perhaps Anne might think the offer odd.

For her part, all Anne can do is nod, but it’s clearly enough for Winnie. The polite smile she’d kept plastered on her lovely face over the course of their short exchange suddenly spreads into one that looks delightedly warm as she takes a step toward her and quickly gets to work.

“You’re Anne, aren’t you?” the blonde asks quietly while her delicate fingers make quick work of adjusting the fine blue silk of Anne’s dress. “Do you spell it with, or without an ‘E’?”

“Yes— with,” Anne says, still a bit too dumbstruck to string more than two words together. She’d imagined tonight more times that she could count over the course of the past few days, but none of the scenarios she’d dreamt up had involved beautiful, stunning, Winifred Rose helping her adjust her dress.

“I’d recognize you anywhere,” Winifred says as she rips a piece of tape from the roller and applies it carefully to the plunging neckline of her dress. “Gilbert talks about you so often, I feel as if I already know you. Still though…it’s nice to meet you properly. I’m Winifred, by the way.”

“I know,” Anne blurts out, immediately kicking herself for not responding with something better. “I mean, it’s nice to meet you too, Winifred.”

For her part, the actress merely giggles over Anne’s outburst before she speaks again. “My friends and family call me Winnie though— and I suspect we’re going to be  _ great _ friends, you and I.”

“I hope we can be— I’d like to be,” Anne says, shooting Winnie a small smile, which the other girl returns.

“There!” Winnie says triumphantly, stepping back to admire her handiwork from afar. “Now you can dance the night away without having to worry about your dress slipping out of place— perhaps with a certain boy we're both well acquainted with?”

Winifred punctuates the insinuation with a teasing wink that makes Anne’s cheeks flush. She saves Anne from what will surely be another embarrassing reply by continuing on. 

"Does he know you're here tonight?" 

"Probably not," Anne confesses. "And I wouldn't be so bold as to assume he might have entertained the idea. There are far more important things for him to attend to tonight."

"But you  _ have _ to know he'd drop them all for you in an instant," Winifred says quietly and through a comforting grin. "His heart's in the right place, you know? Even if it maybe takes him a while to vocalize the truth of it all."

"Can't exactly blame him though, can I?" Anne sighs. "I'm not sure if I'd be the pot or the kettle, but either way, we're both doing the most to say the least."

"It's always so much easier in the movies, isn't it? To tell the person you're in love with them."

Anne opens her mouth to protest on reflex, but Winifred gently cuts her off with a soft hand on her shoulder. 

"Try not to wait too long before you both put each other out of whatever misery you’re experiencing though, won't you? He deserves to be happy— and so do you, my dear Anne with an E." Winifred squeezes her shoulder once before she pulls back. "I hope to see you in there!" she says kindly before floating out of the room. 

Anne's left to gather up her small collection of belongings before making her way back out to the red carpet. She picks a strategic spot close to the end of the press line and far away from the rowdy broadcast teams, heaving a sigh of relief when the red carpet suddenly kicks off. And suddenly, she’s so thoroughly engrossed in the task at hand, any thoughts that might have otherwise lingered or plagued at her brain melt away into the background.

It feels good to truly be back to work, like exercising for the first time in ages and relishing in flexing muscles that haven't moved in far too long. She waves down a young star from an upcoming sci-fi show on The CW, and an EGOT winner who’d only just recently achieved such a prestigious status to start. One by one, the guests arrive, pausing by the handful to answer her questions on their way into the party that awaits up ahead. She’s so fueled up on adrenaline, the likes of which only a fast paced red carpet can provide, that she nearly forgets about Gilbert entirely. That is, until the photojournalists in the pit erupt in a cacophony of sound. 

Anne hears the sound of his name repeatedly echoing in the room far before she catches sight of him. But then Gilbert steps back and Anne's heart kicks against her ribcage at the sight of him. He looks devastatingly handsome in an impeccably tailored suit that seems to cling to him in all of the best ways, and Anne watches on as his eyes shine bright while he walks the press line, stopping to give interviews, or show off the Golden Globe in his hand whenever asked.

"I have Best Supporting Actor winner Gilbert Blythe coming down the carpet," says a familiar voice that makes her jump. She'd been so caught up in Gilbert's arrival, she hadn't even noticed the moment in which Josie had entered the room. In hindsight, Anne knows she should have been expecting her-- especially given their chat on Friday afternoon. "Would you perhaps be interested in speaking with Mr. Blythe? I can steer him over just before he goes in if so.” 

Josie's voice is cool, collected, and the epitome of professionalism, but it's her eyes that convey the hidden meaning behind what she’s saying. 

Suddenly, the blonde's words from a few days ago are echoing in Anne's mind. 

_ "If you happen to decide that you don’t want to see him— if you feel like you need more time— then I’ll make sure he doesn’t even know you’re there.” _

Was she ready? Did she need more time? Would she  _ ever _ be ready? Would there ever be a _ right _ moment?

The time for mulling over such large questions was quickly running out, but perhaps it was for the best. Anne had spent the better part of her life overthinking each and every prospective interaction with one, Gilbert Blythe. Maybe it was finally time to throw caution to the wind, simply wing it, and hope for the best. 

"Yes, I'm interested," Anne says quickly. "I'm ready."

"Alright then," Josie says, grinning knowingly at Anne before she turns on her heel and heads back toward where Gilbert's speaking with a camera crew from an Italian network. 

There's a moment where he walks right past her in which Anne frets, just for a fraction of a second, that perhaps Gilbert doesn’t even care to see her at all. But then Josie’s tugging lightly at his arm and guiding his gaze discretely toward her.

It’s like the first time she saw him in New York City all over again the moment Gilbert’s eyes meet hers, because when he’s staring at her so intently, it feels like the world and everything in it has stopped just for them. And if Anne thought her knees had buckled the moment Gilbert’s gaze holds hers, it’s nothing compared to the way it feels when she watches the way he slowly trails his eyes from the top of her fiery red hair down to the tips of her toes. He waits until he’s locked his gaze back on to hers before he makes his way slowly over, as though scared she might vanish if he moves toward her too quick.

In an effort to keep any semblance of wits about her, Anne does the only thing she can think of and fumbles with the voice recorder she’d tucked away in her purse. She fishes it out with trembling fingers that have just enough time to turn the device on before Gilbert’s standing right in front of her.

Anne keeps one hand gripped firmly on the velvet rope that serves as a feeble barrier to keep them separated. Her other hand holds tight onto the voice recorder she sticks out between their bodies, as though hoping that keeping him at arm’s length might help her feel a little less intoxicated by Gilbert’s very presence.

He stares at her slack-jawed, one hand reaching out to touch her as though he can hardly believe Anne’s actually there. And then, as if remembering where they are and what they’d just gone through together with the tabloids, Gilbert thinks better of it and drops his hand to his side.

Anne chances a glance up the carpet as if reading his thoughts, relief washing over her when she realizes that a pop star who’s been in hiding for the better part of the previous year has just made a surprise appearance. It’ll offer the both of them a small modicum of privacy, which Anne knows won’t hold for long.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gilbert asks quickly, as though he, too, has just realized they won’t have much time to catch up on the carpet.

“I didn’t know if they’d let me come out,” Anne says. It’s true, despite the fact that she omits the part where she’s spent the better part of the last forty-eight overthinking this very moment. “It’s good to see you, Gil.”

“It’s good to see you too,” he whispers softly. Anne can’t help the way her body sways forward of its own accord for a fraction of a second before she rightens herself with a curt clear of her throat.

“Congratulations on your big win tonight,” Anne says seriously. “Was there anyone you forgot to thank during your acceptance speech?”

Gilbert chuckles over the way she’s so easily slipped back into her role as red carpet reporter. He humors her nevertheless and confesses he’d forgotten to thank his manager, who’d wasted no time in bringing the oversight to his attention.

“Any plans for how you’re going to celebrate your big win?” she asks as a follow up.

“Well, that all depends,” Gilbert replies, drawing his gaze away from hers.

“On what?” Anne presses, pulling his eyes back to hers with her own.

“On whether or not the person I’d really like to celebrate with might choose to grace me with her presence when she’s off the clock?”

Anne’s swallows thickly as the weight of Gilbert’s declaration settles heavy and warm upon her. She’d planned to buy herself some time and hit him with another follow up question, but suddenly words are leaving her mouth and they’re not the ones she’d intended to say.

“Josie came by and dropped off that book you never sent,” she says, watching as the realization moves across his expressive eyebrows before coloring his eyes. “The passage you underlined,” Anne continues slowly. “I wondered what it means to you, because I already know what I've understood that moment to mean.”

Gilbert’s silent for a moment as his eyes bore into hers, and Anne does her best to keep her heart rate under control as she meets his gaze with a steady one of her own.

“Ask me again,” he finally whispers in return.

Anne hadn’t registered the moment in which Gilbert had taken hold of the same strand of velvet rope she’d been clutching like a lifeline over the course of their exchange. But she feels it when his hand slides down the crimson vine— the only physical barrier that’s left standing between them. He doesn’t stop until his hand is pressed right up against the side of hers.

“Ask you what?” Anne responds with difficulty.

Gilbert’s eyes drop toward their sole point of contact, and Anne’s too busy studying the features of his face to catch the moment when his pinky finger moves. But she feels the way it slowly caresses the side of her wrist in one soft, slow swipe, and it's singlehandedly the most innocent yet intimate caress she’s ever felt in her life.

“Ask me if I drew inspiration from anywhere in particular for my interpretation of Mr. Darcy,” he says meaningfully.

Anne swallows thickly as the weight of Gilbert’s request settles heavy between them. She’d been keeping a firm grip on the voice recorder she’d been holding out toward him, but it suddenly feels silly to keep up pretenses that she had come here to do her job and nothing more. Especially when Anne knows that the real reason she’d braved the chaos of the Golden Globes red carpet tonight was to see  _ him _ .

It’s the easiest decision she’s ever made to hit stop on the recording and drop her arm back down to her side. Anne steels herself, taking in a shaky breath, before she complies with Gilbert’s request.

“ _ Did  _ you draw inspiration from anywhere in particular for your interpretation?”

“There was this girl, back in Avonlea, who was so smart and so pretty it’s a miracle I could ever function around her at all,” he starts. “One time I called her Carrots and she whacked me over the head with her binder.”

Anne giggles, eyes never leaving his as she lets Gilbert continue. “And I guess it’s true, what they say about how some things never change. Because she’s still got this fiery red hair, and all of these freckles that I’ve never been able to stop thinking about. And then there’s me— still too stubborn to tell her that she _ still  _ means more to me than she’ll probably ever know.”

“Gilbert…” she whispers.

“So to answer your question,” he continues. “It turns out I didn’t have to look much further than my own backyard to find my muse. It’s easy to play a character who believes his heart has been stolen by the object of his affection when it feels like my  _ own  _ heart was stolen long ago.”

They stand there, Gilbert’s pinky still sliding across her wrist, until a flash goes off to Anne’s left. He draws back with a sheepish grin, his free hand flying up to toy with the short curls at the back of his neck as the both of them suddenly remember where they are.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Blythe,” Anne says for lack of anything better.

“Any time,” he utters in return. “I know you’re still on the clock, but I’ll be in there if you want to come find me— I  _ hope _ you come and find me,” he adds motioning over toward where the WB and InStyle’s after party is already in full swing.

Anne nods deftly, watching as he walks away and disappears from view. It takes her all of fifteen painful minutes in which she wobbles through a slew of quick carpet interviews for her to make up her mind. And before she can think better of it, Anne impulsively slips under the velvet rope and walks determinedly into the Oasis Courtyard.

  
  


There’s something about the sheer number of bodies cramped into the small space that makes Anne stop dead in her tracks. She waves down a server as he walks by, grabbing a mini bottle of pink champagne from the proffered tray and downing it, hoping it’ll calm her nerves. The bubbles go straight to her head, but it’s enough to take a bit of the edge off of the daunting task of locating Gilbert among the sea of gowns and tuxes, all of which are starting to look eerily similar given the darkness of the room. Suddenly, Gilbert materializes in front of her as if by magic— as if knowing she’d been thinking better of it and was weighing out whether or not she might be better off going home and calling him tomorrow instead. 

Gilbert draws close, dropping his head until his lips are right against her ear. “I’m glad you came,” he says, the heat of his breath making her shiver. “I was hoping you would.”

“So am I,” Anne says, leaning toward him and hoping he can hear her despite the loud music blasting through the space.

He shoots her a perplexed look, and Anne frowns when it dawns on her that, despite the fact that there’s so much left to say, so much that she still wants to tell him, she’ll have to wait just a while longer.

Gilbert gives her an apologetic smile, as though he understands what’s caused her brows to knot together. There’s something about the look on his face— understanding with a hint of uncertainty— that makes her heart ache something awful. And suddenly, it dawns on her that just because she can’t tell him she feels it too, that it feels as though he’s stolen her heart right back, doesn’t mean she can’t do more to  _ show _ him. She draws closer and plants a soft, featherlight kiss on his cheek, her pulse picking up speed when she hears his breath hitch. When she steps back, it’s only to lift a trembling hand up and gently smooth away the faint trace of red lipstick she’d left on his skin. They stand there like that for a moment, paying no mind to the bodies milling around them. It’s just the two of them, Anne with her fingertips still smoothing across Gilbert’s cheekbone, and Gilbert with his sooty lashes stark against his skin as he shuts his eyes and he leans into her touch. Anne finds herself hoping it’s going to be enough as she slowly draws her hand away— that the small showcase of affection she’s just offered will serve as a worthy placeholder until she can speak freely. She knows he realizes it when Gilbert’s eyes flutter back open and she sees a look of wondered understanding materialize within them. 

He sticks his hand out toward her, palm up, and open and waiting, as he flashes her a warm smile. And as Anne reaches out to take it, she thinks to herself that perhaps, for now, it’s enough for them just to be together. To be in this moment while sharing an unspoken understanding that they’ve both stopped denying the fact that there’s more between them than mere friendship.

She feels a jolt the moment her hand lands in his, as though the universe saw fit to send her some tangible proof of the chemistry that’s always existed between her and Gilbert. And when Gilbert looks down at their joint hands for a moment before his awestruck gaze lifts back up toward hers, Anne knows without a shadow of a doubt that he must have felt it too. 

He keeps her close with his tight grip as he weaves them in and out of a sea of familiar faces, stopping at a crowded booth shaped like a semicircle toward the back of the courtyard. Gilbert tries his best to introduce her to everyone sitting at the booth, all of whom seem to be connected in some form or another to the film he’d won the award for earlier in the night. Anne smiles shyly, waving with her free hand before Gilbert tugs her down to sit next to him.

A couple of studio execs swoop in, demanding Gilbert’s attention, and Anne tries her best to keep up with what they’re saying as he does his best to politely answer all of their questions. It proves to be a near impossible feat— especially with her hand still held captive in Gilbert’s sure grip. The gesture is almost too intimate to bear despite its innocence, and something about the juxtaposition makes her heart race as her skin tingles in all of the places their palms are pressed together.

Gilbert’s fingers squeeze hers once, sending a delectable tingle up her arm before it shoots straight down her spine. And suddenly, Anne can’t help the way her idle fingers itch to trace the lines of the palm pressed against hers. To map out every inch of Gilbert’s hands in an effort to ensure that the moment is real. That he’s  _ real _ , and  _ there _ . And If he is, and this careful caress of fingertips is all she ever gets, she wants to be able to feel it— to feel  _ him  _ in her memory long after the night is over.

So she gives into her desire and she does it.

Emboldened by the shroud of privacy the darkened courtyard provides, Anne pulls her hand from his gentle grip and lets the pads of her fingers begin their gentle exploration. She starts with the tips of his own fingers, and works her way down to his wrist, carefully caressing every line and every dip. As she does, Gilbert’s hand gradually curves under hers, fingers flexing and coming alive under her ministrations before slowly moving to mirror her actions. 

And they’re both not looking— both  _ decidedly _ not looking— as their hands become better acquainted. She feels the skin on her arms begin to pebble when Gilbert moves so his hand is over hers, tracing the tendons on the top of her palm from knuckle to wrist. A shiver works its way through her as a direct result— one she knows he must feel beneath his own fingertips, because suddenly, Gilbert’s eyes stray from the studio execs who are still talking his ear off and lock on hers. 

He mimes out asking Anne if she’d like something to drink to which she replies with a nod, thinking perhaps that Gilbert intends to wave down one of the many servers milling about. Instead, he politely excuses himself from the men who’d sat down across from him as he stands, pulling Anne up with him before he leads the way over to the bar.

It’s quiet enough on the outskirts of the room that Gilbert only has to yell a little bit in order to ask Anne if she’d like anything in particular to drink, nodding when she assures him that anything’s fine. He smiles warmly, turning away momentarily to speak with the bartender, before he returns, brandishing a pair of mini Moët bottles. Anne's never been one to drink as much champagne as she has tonight, but she understands why Gilbert's picked it to drink. 

"Thought we could switch up our old vodka soda/whiskey neat routine," he says with a wink. 

"When in Rome, right?" Anne replies, touching the lip of the gold sipper placed over the top of the bottle to Gilbert's own. 

She doesn't take her eyes off of his face as she lifts the bottle to her mouth and takes a sip, the fine bubbles tickling as they travel down her throat and settle in her stomach. 

It's almost too easy to forget that Gilbert's such a hot commodity in general, but tonight especially. But it’s a fact that’s all but impossible to ignore once they find themselves surrounded by a growing group of party goers itching to congratulate him on his big win. Anne laughs to herself when it suddenly dawns on her that watching Gilbert get swept up in a group of adoring individuals isn’t at all unlike the way it used to be when they were young and he was Avonlea’s resident golden boy.

She thinks about all of the times they’d found themselves with a moment alone— thinks of all the moments she’d desperately cling to where the younger version of herself fleetingly entertained the idea that perhaps Gilbert might feel something for her, too. Thinks of moments in which it was never long before Gilbert found himself being whisked away by friends or teammates for some reason or another, having just enough time to shoot Anne an apologetic smile before disappearing from view. It’s the memory of all of those moments she’d collected that makes it easy for Anne to subconsciously shrink into the background now, stepping back as she sips the drink he’d handed her and waits for Gilbert to shoot her that same apologetic smile that she remembers so well. It appears like clockwork a few moments later— but it’s not directed at Anne. Instead, he offers it up to the group of well wishers before smoothly leading Anne away toward the center of the room where they’ve set up a makeshift dance floor.

“Sorry about that,” Gilbert says, shifting closer amidst the moving bodies that surround them.

“That’s okay— are you sure you don’t need to…?” Anne asks, gesturing in the direction they’d come from. 

“No,” Gilbert assures her with a vigorous shake of his head. “I’m right where I need to be.”

The earnestness in his voice, still apparent despite the music pumping through the speakers, makes her heart flutter away furiously in her chest. She’s so swept up in it she doesn’t even realized Gilbert’s taken another step toward her until he’s reaching out for her left hand with his right, and placing his other hand at her waist. He sways them gently, ignoring the upbeat tempo of the pop song blaring through the speakers, in a move that causes a giggle to bubble out of her.

“I probably should have asked you if you wanted to dance instead of coercing you into it,” Gilbert says, looking a bit embarrassed.

“It’s okay— I would have said yes anyway,” Anne says, shifting her hand from where it’s resting on his shoulder so it’s resting on the back of his collar instead.

He follows her lead, slowly sliding one hand around the curve of her waist until it’s splayed across the soft skin at the small of her back, fingers flexing, and eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he realizes he’s touching bare flesh.

The heat that pools in his eyes mirrors that of the fire pooling low in her belly, spurred on by the way Gilbert traces a blazing path across the expanse of skin, as though hellbent to feel out where flesh ends and fabric begins. She drops her head to his shoulder, teeth digging into her lower lip when she feels his fingertips slip beneath the silk edge of her dress for just a moment before he draws his hand back.

“I didn’t realize your dress was backless,” he says against her ear.

“Do you like it?” she asks in return, wishing the question had come out sounding more confident.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, the ghost of his lips brushing against her temple. “But not as beautiful as  _ you _ , Anne-girl.”

She’s saved from coming up with a worthy response when they’re interrupted by a woman asking if Gilbert wouldn’t mind taking a picture with her daughter. He obliges, smiling warmly at the teenage girl, who beams and tucks herself into his side while her mother takes her phone and snaps away. 

Anne offers to take a photo of the three of them, eyeing the late hour reflected back at her on the phone screen as she hands it back to the girl and her mother.

“I didn’t realize it was already so late,” she says when Gilbert finally turns back toward her.

“Do you turn into a pumpkin if you’re not home before a certain time?” he teases good-naturedly.

“Perhaps I do if I don’t file a story on time,” she jokes. “I can’t say I know for sure though— I haven’t missed a deadline yet.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he offers, lips quirking up into a half smile.

Anne opens her mouth to assure him it’s not necessary, but Gilbert cuts her off gently. “Please, Carrots. Humor me and let me rest easy knowing you’ve made it to your car.”

“I Ubered,” Anne blurts out for lack of anything better.

“Then at least let me wait with you until your ride shows up.”

They say no more on the matter as Anne leads them back toward the entrance, only for Gilbert to guide her with a hand at the small of her back toward an exit off to the side of the room instead. When they step through the door, Anne realizes the route they’d taken has deposited them right back into the main lobby of the hotel. The space is far quieter than it had been when Anne had arrived, and far less packed, which means it takes very little time for the two of them to make their way out to the front of the hotel. 

Anne puts her name in with the doorman hailing taxis for departing guests, crossing her arms over her chest in a feeble effort to keep warm before going over to stand to the side where Gilbert’s waiting for her. He’s shrugging off his suit jacket before she can so much as think to protest, draping it over her shoulders and pulling it tight around her front.

“Thanks,” she whispers, breathing in the comforting scent of him that clings to the material and offers up an extra layer of warmth mere fabric alone could never provide.

“Thank you,” Gilbert replies. “For braving the madness to spend time with me in there— I couldn’t have asked for a better way to cap off the night.”

“Well, far be it from me to deny you the one request you had after your big tonight,” Anne says, giving his shoulder a playful nudge.

The taxi she’d ordered comes far sooner than they’d both expected, and Gilbert lets out a forlorn sigh as he walks her over to where her ride is idling by the curb. He takes her by surprise when he reaches out to catch a loose tendril of her hair that’s billowing in the crisp January air.

“I know that this is the part where I’m supposed to send you home, and tell you to text me when you get there safe,” he says, tucking the strand behind her ear, the heat of his touch lingering in a way that leaves Anne feeling like he’s stolen the air straight out of her lungs. “But I’m just…not ready to say goodnight yet.”

His confession catches her off guard as she loses herself in the dizzying swirls of colors in his hazel irises. 

Carefully, she reaches up to take hold of the hand that’s still lingering against the side of her face, staring for a moment at the sight of their fingers laced together before she flicks her eyes back up to meet his gaze.

“Then don’t say goodnight yet,” she says quietly.

And when Anne pulls him gently into the cab behind her, Gilbert follows without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness-- here's another chapter I seriously thought would never get done! Like the last update, Chapter 7 ended up being WAY longer than I initially anticipated it would be. It also went through so many changes as I fiddled around with trying to get Anne and Gil from point A to point B.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Rachel ([writergirl8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8)) who not only helped me trouble shoot the beginning of this chapter, but also beta read all 9,370 words. She's a total gem and such a talented writer and I'm so lucky to be able to count her as a friend so please go and read her stuff and give her all of the love because it's what she deserves!
> 
> Also, shout out to my regular beta, Ems ([The_lazy_eye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_lazy_eye)) who I forced to take a break for this installment, but still provided some much needed moral support! 
> 
> I know the updates are coming much slower as I try and wrap this story up, but I hope the length of these last two installments makes up for the longer waits!
> 
> Thank you as always for your patience, for your continued support, and for all of you who are kind enough to leave kudos and comments. Some of y'all have such lovely things to say about these chapters and I can't tell you how much that means to me. 
> 
> So thank you in advance if you're kind enough to drop me a line and let me know what you thought about this chapter-- it's such a huge motivator to keep going even when the writer's block is rearing its ugly head!
> 
> In between updates, you can come and hang out with me either on [Tumblr](https://xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com/) and/or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE)!
> 
> See y'all when I see you for the FINAL chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> YOU GUYS. I've been working on this story for longer than I've been writing it, which is sort of weird to say but it's the truth. So it feels surreal to finally be sharing the first chapter with you!
> 
> Also, we all know who the queen of famous au's in this fandom is ([botanyclub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanyclub/pseuds/botanyclub)\-- it's botanyclub, and I have no choice but to stan tbqh because their work is PHENOMENAL!) Even so, I hope you enjoy my humble take on the trope, and that you'll come along for the ride! 
> 
> Thank you as always in advance if you're kind enough to leave kudos and/or comments-- your comments give me ALL the warm fuzzies no matter how long or short and I truly appreciate each and every one of you who take the time to leave those!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://xxprettylittletimebombxx.tumblr.com/) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE) if you want to keep up with me between uploads!
> 
> See y'all soon for chapter 2!


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